Vice
by Sandiane Carter
Summary: AU: Beckett is a uniform on the Vice squad at the 12th, five years before she and Castle actually meet in the show. Based on an idea of Cartographical - chezchuckles and I just liked it so much that we each wrote our own. Variations on the same theme, sort of.
1. Chapter 1

_November, 2003_

Beckett pushed a hand through her short hair, winced at the way the gel stuck to her fingers. Lanie had warned her not to touch it.

She sighed and ran the water, rinsed her hands, hunched over the tiny sink of the 12th precinct's bathroom. She glanced once more at her face; the yellow lights made her look paler than usual, and she couldn't determine if her make-up was really too vampire-y.

She hoped not.

After drying her hands, she readjusted her skirt, didn't even try to tug it down; she had long surrendered to the unspeakable shortness of the thing. She was supposed to be a hooker, anyway, and at least she looked the part. Her top sparkled fiercely despite the lack of ambient light, as if trying to make up for her low spirits; a smile flickered across her face.

She usually enjoyed working undercover, the thrill, the secretiveness of it all; nobody knowing who she was, what her agendas were. It filled Kate Beckett with a sensation of power like nothing she'd felt before.

And she'd done some acting in high school, enough to enjoy role-playing.

But tonight-

Today her father came out of rehab. Sober. Finally. He'd called her earlier, had told her he didn't want to make a big deal out of it, but she'd been planning on buying him dinner, maybe showing up at the house - and then she'd been asked on this case.

She couldn't say no. They needed a good-looking woman, and better yet, someone who could speak a little Russian to go undercover, and Kate's name had come up, even though she was only a uniform. Little more than nothing.

You couldn't refuse such an offer, not if you wanted to make detective some day.

Beckett chewed on her lower lip, caught herself doing so in the mirror and stopped. She took one last, steadying breath, and she stepped out of the bathroom, swaying her hips, pressing her lip-glossed mouth together.

She was now Anya Ivanova, twenty years old, a Russian immigrant who'd reached New York's streets a year ago, and worked, these days, for the pimp and drug dealer Antonio Velasquez.

That is, if she could get inside his new nightclub, _Russian Angels._

* * *

"Again, Beckett. What's the plan?"

She let out an inaudible sigh, but kept a careful lid on her irritation, because she was only 24 and this guy, Miles Osborne, was a Vice detective about twice her age, who was rather fond of reminding her he'd been at the precinct when she was still in kindergarten.

(She'd done the math, found that it was, unfortunately, true).

"I go in as Anya, look around, talk to people, gather as much information as I can about Antonio Velasquez and alleged underage prostitutes," she recited.

"And?"

"I take no chances, try to stay unnoticed, get out if anything goes wrong."

Osborne narrowed his clear blue eyes at her. "This is not a game, Beckett. I'm serious. I don't want my guys to have to go in there and pull you out."

"They won't," she promised calmly, her chin raised, trying to project as much confidence as she could. She could feel the eyes of the two other guys on her, a detective from Narcotics called Robinson, and Osborne's partner, a sturdy, younger black guy that she rather liked. Johnson was strong and quiet, something in his eyes that made you want to trust him.

"Good," Osborne said. "You have the earpiece. If you're ready, off you go."

Beckett turned and grabbed her purse from the only free stool, gave one last glance to the surveillance van, the men huddled inside it. "See you in a couple hours," she said, and she opened one of the back doors, stepped outside.

Her high heels clicked against the pavement, sharp and clear, and they did almost as much for her confidence as the small gun hidden at her inside thigh.

* * *

Beckett made her way to the bar and dropped her empty glass onto the wooden countertop, worked hard not to roll her eyes when she felt a hand against her ass.

Wasn't the first, wouldn't be the last.

She turned slowly, rearranging her expression to convey what she hoped was interest and seduction, rather than the annoyance and frustration that battled in her chest.

So far, the undercover operation was a complete fiasco. She'd been let inside the club, which was good, but her earpiece had stopped working about thirty minutes ago; she'd been on her own since then, trying without success to sneak into the back room, get a glimpse of the pimp they were looking for.

Beckett was tired, hungry; she wanted it to be over so she could go to her dad's.

Little chance of that happening now.

"Hey there." The man with the wandering hands grinned. He had a narrow face, tight, curly hair, and tattoos spread over his muscular shoulders; his accent was Russian, she thought, but couldn't be sure.

"Hi," she said, dropping her voice and her eyelashes on purpose. She was supposed to be twenty years old, after all, and shyness appealed to a certain type of man.

Wandering Hands seemed to be one of them. He leered at her, eyes arrested by her chest for what seemed a ridiculously long time until he reached out for her, brought her closer with his hands on her waist.

"So what's your name, babe?"

Beckett wanted to roll her eyes at the moniker, but she glanced up at him instead, let a timid smile stretch her lips. "Anya," she offered.

"Anya. Ain't that lovely. Well I'm Paul, Anya. Very nice to meet you." He kept her hand between his for a while, and she could feel the perspiration that coated his palms. He was a little drunk, obviously, but she wondered if there was more to the unfocused look in his eyes.

"You work here?" he asked, gesturing to the club, the people dancing to the heavy beat of techno.

She shook her head, just once.

"No?" He didn't seem surprised; he probably was a regular, and he had never seen her around.

"I usually work at - other club," she said, lifting a hand to smooth her hair. "Downtown."

She had her whole story ready, all the names carefully memorized, but she was still relieved when he dropped the subject. His hand was stroking her hip, up and down, an irritating pattern, and he asked in a low voice, "So tell me, Anya. What do you do?"

She eyed the man, tried to decide whether he was likely to have some sort of personal connection to the pimp she was looking for. If he was a regular - maybe it was worth a try.

"I do whatever you like," she said, batting her lashes at him, reaching slowly for the strap of her bra. She caught it between two fingers and dragged it down the roundness of her shoulder, so he wouldn't mistake her meaning.

Paul's eyes were wide, his pupils dilated, his breathing shallow as he watched her.

Ugh. Men.

"Do you now," he muttered, but it wasn't really a question.

He was all too eager to believe her.

"Uh-huh," she whispered anyway, twisting her hips as she shifted from one foot to another, making him take notice of her legs, the crazy high heels. She needed more practice wearing them; she had almost twisted her ankle in the stairs back at the precinct.

The man leaned in and Beckett prepared herself, wiped her face clean of any emotion - Anya didn't feel disgust. Anya didn't feel anything. But he didn't kiss her; he put his mouth at her ear and asked quietly, "And how much will whatever I like cost me?"

Maybe he wasn't as drunk as she'd imagined.

She looked at him, smiled slyly. "Real bargain for you."

Paul laughed, his heavy, moist breath fanning her temple, and he stood up, a hand at the small of her back.

Great. Seemed like she'd convinced him.

"Let's go somewhere more...private," he told her, and she gave a little nod of agreement, followed him to the back, trying to keep her triumph from showing.

Finally, finally, she was getting somewhere.

* * *

Or so she'd thought.

There were several rooms in the back of the club; it was much larger than she'd expected, and some part of her wanted to strangle the guys in Vice for not being able to give her more accurate information.

The two stocky, impassible men who watched the door had let them in, one of them giving a long, suspicious look to Beckett until Paul had declared somewhat aggressively, "She's with me."

At least there was that. She'd been right; Paul did have connections at the club.

But the tight grip of his hand on her wrist as she followed him inside, the flash of lust in his eyes every time he looked back at her-

They made her stomach clench. What had she gotten herself into?

It wasn't like Beckett had never worked undercover for Vice before. She had, twice, and everybody'd told her what a great job she'd done, but she'd been acting as bait, had been surrounded by a team, and she hadn't had much to do then. Not a lot of touching going on.

This - getting dragged into the back room of a nightclub that was infamous for its ties to prostitution and drugs - this was new. And although Beckett knew she had the means of knocking Paul out, if it came down to it, she didn't know where the emergency exits were, didn't know how the other patrons would react.

Shit.

She pretended to tuck her hair behind her ear, a cover move to press her fingertips to the earpiece, silently begging for the thing to resume working. No such luck.

What was she supposed to do? Forget about it and get out? That's probably what Detective Osborne would have wanted her to do, but-

Hell no. She'd spent almost two hours in that club trying to gain access to Velasquez; she was not about to stop now that she was close. Well. Closer, anyway.

No, Kate Beckett wouldn't walk away just because things were getting a little hot.

Paul made them walk through a smoke-filled room that had tables and banquettes, and a good deal of people probably engaged in various illegal activities; she scanned the space, hoping to catch a glimpse of Velasquez if he was even here.

But they were going too fast, and she couldn't ask Paul to slow down, not if she wanted to stay inconspicuous. So she gritted her teeth and squinted her eyes, paid attention to the layout of the club instead – at least she'd have some valuable information to take back to her team.

Then they were in the next room, where the lights were much dimmer, and before she could even find her bearings Beckett felt herself swung around, her back hitting the wall with a dull sound, her head following. Ouch, that hurt-

She had no time to recover, though, because Paul was on her, hands and mouth and teeth, ugh, his body pressed close enough that she could feel the hard bulge in his jeans, and shit, that was _not_ the plan.

Not the plan.

She pushed back with all her strength, managed to unstick him from her for a few precious seconds; her head swam and she cursed inwardly, had to catch herself on the nearest chair. Paul's hand closed over her bicep, clawing hard enough to hurt.

"What's going on, babe?" he whispered, anger swelling at the back of his voice. "You said _anything I wanted_-"

Kate looked up at him, saw the threat in his cold, empty eyes, and her answers died on her tongue. Shit, shit, she'd underestimated the guy.

She snuck a glance around, scanning for help, a weapon, a way out. Anything. The room was dark and mostly empty, apart from two couples, a girl on her knees in front of a man who must have been at least fifty, and two people who were literally wrapped around each other, backed into a corner. None of them likely to help.

"Answer me, bitch," Paul growled, his other hand shooting up to close at her neck, cutting off her air. Okay. She'd had enough.

Beckett drew her right arm back, sent it flying into the man's chest before he could choke her; the heel of her hand met his solar plexus with a dull thump and he stumbled backwards, releasing her at once.

She touched her fingers to her throat, grateful for that first, lovely breath of air, the way it flowed into her body like cool water. Paul was wheezing on the ground, but also sitting up, pushing on his forearms. Time to get out.

She detoured around him, a hand skimming over the wall as much for balance as much as guidance, and paused when she got to the door they'd come in through.

She cast another glance around the room, hoping for the red, saving light of a safety exit, but there was none that she could find. Only way out was the one they had come in through.

Damn it.

Paul was stumbling on his feet now, and she couldn't afford one more second of hesitation; she just pushed the flimsy curtain aside and went back into the brighter, more crowded room where she'd hoped to catch a glimpse of Velasquez.

Too late for that now, she thought, and she was making a beeline for the door when a drunken man launched himself at her, knocking her off-course, sending her - once more - swinging against the wall.

That was one too many times, and she grimaced when her elbow knocked into the concrete, her head nearly following. What the hell-

"You are so pretty," the man bawled, drooling all over her, obviously not disturbed by the fact that he was now sprawled all over the floor.

Kate pushed on him, tried to get her vision to focus. "Get off me," she said, grinding her teeth and remembering Paul. Oh, for god's sake, if that drunkard got her into more trouble-

"Let. Go." she hissed, gathering her strength to push at him. But the man was _heavy_, and comfortable it seemed, and Beckett felt the clutch of panic at her insides.

No, no, she could _do this_-

"I think the lady asked you to let her go," a voice said above them, a strong, steady voice that was heaven to her ears because it wasn't Paul's.

In the next second, the drunkard was rolled off her, a warm hand met hers, and she was pulled up to her feet by a man with very, very blue eyes. For a moment it was all she could notice, but then his face registered and she thought _is that-?_

Before she could make sure, however, the voice of her former 'customer' broke her out of her trance. "Where's that bitch?" he yelled from somewhere much too close.

"Shit," she whispered, and the blue-eyed man looked at her with interest, one of his eyebrows arching.

"I take it that by _that bitch_ he means you?"

She pressed her lips together without answering, turned her back on him, heading back to the main room, the anonymity of the dance floor.

"Hey, wait!" Oh, jeez. At least he wasn't trying to stop her; he only followed her to the passage that led back into the club, caught up with her when she wavered for a second, reluctant to leave the back room that had been so hard to get into.

But she had no choice.

"You work here?" the man with the blue eyes asked again, reminding her of his annoying presence. She ignored him and slipped between the two watchdogs, quickly mixed into the dancing crowd.

_Don't look back, don't look back_.

Paul would forget about her soon enough, but right now the last thing he needed was to look around the nightclub and meet her eyes. She heard a commotion, though, and raised voices, and just as she got to the edge of the dance floor she couldn't help herself.

She looked back.

One of the bouncers was holding the man who had helped her - she would _not_ call him Richard Castle; it couldn't be him. It just couldn't. The guy was obviously trying to talk his way out of whatever mess he'd made for himself, and Kate watched, entranced, as he succeeded.

The bouncer let go of him, mouthed something that was obviously a threat, and pushed Castle - no, no, the blue-eyed man - towards the exit. Beckett felt a surge of relief, although she shouldn't have cared, _didn't care_, and she followed the two men to the door, light as a shadow.

She waited until the door was closed again, the bouncer back in his place, before she finally stepped into the cold, dark night.

Osborne would be furious at her.

* * *

Osborne wasn't waiting for her at the door, though.

The man was.

_Richard Castle_, she thought again, and there was simply no denying it this time. She's spent enough hours staring longingly at the jacket of his books, wondering if his smile felt just as warm and wonderful in real life.

What on earth was the man doing in a club like _Russian Angels_? Her favorite author. Damn it, she didn't care-

"You okay?" he said, gentler somehow than she'd have expected, his voice soft as he moved towards her.

She moved back.

"I'm fine," she declared coolly. "I can take care of myself, thank you." In case her words hadn't been clear enough, she folded her arms in front of her chest. The air was chilly, though, and she had goosebumps, and of course he had to notice.

She didn't realize, didn't comprehend what he was doing until he was draping his jacket over her shoulders, and then she jerked back, the fabric almost sliding to the ground if it hadn't been for Castle's quick reflexes.

"What are you doing?"

Hell, she needed to get back to the van, not stay here like an idiot, staring into blue eyes that looked so much darker in the faint glow of streetlights.

"Giving you my jacket. You're obviously freezing," he shot back with both eyebrows raised, not fazed by her reaction.

"I don't-" she bit her lip, couldn't for the life of her understand this man. "Jeez, keep the jacket. It's yours. I need to go anyway."

"Go where?"

She'd half turned away, but he came in between her and the street where the van was waiting, something so eager, so curious in his expression.

"That's none of your business," she said shortly, some part of her horrified that she was saying these words to her favorite author. But that was the thing - the whole situation was surreal, and she had no idea how to deal with it.

She was tired, and with tired came snarky, and it couldn't be helped.

He seemed delighted with her answer, anyway. "You're not really a hooker, are you?" he said, eyes intent on her, and she almost congratulated him, asked him if he wanted a prize.

Instead she sighed, rolled her eyes, tried to sidestep him. He moved along with her.

"Who are you?"

Oh, Jesus.

"Go home, Mr. Castle." The moment the words left her mouth, she closed her eyes in dismay. Damn, how stupid could she be?

His face practically lit up. "You know me."

And there it was. "Might have read one of your books," she muttered, hoped he would leave it at that.

"Seriously?" He laughed, and ugh, it was a beautiful sound that uncurled something deep in her stomach. "I'm not that famous. You'd have to have spent some time staring at my biography to actually know me in the street."

Do _not _blush, Kate.

"I have to go," she repeated, but her legs seemed to be rooted to the spot.

"You're not a hooker," he said again, and there was entirely too much fascination in that rich voice. He stepped close again, and this time she stayed where she was, couldn't have moved her feet to save her life.

"It's too bad," he sighed laughingly. "I would have paid-" he let his eyes roam over her, and somehow it was not nearly as creepy now as it had been back in the bar with Paul, "a lot of money, to be allowed to kiss that mouth."

She did her best to hide her responsive shiver; she wasn't sure it worked.

"I'm trying hard not to be insulted," she said, but her voice wasn't that firm anymore.

He looked thoughtful. "Oh. Probably not my best compliment. Sorry. That's what happens when I've spent the whole night trying to put words on a mood or an attitude. I just - all the good words are gone."

Trying to put words-

"You were in there for inspiration," she realized finally, stupid relief kicking in her chest. Really, Kate.

"Ah, wouldn't call it inspiration, but authenticity, definitely." He winked at her, dear god, and she found herself canting towards him._ Job._ _Remember, you have a job._

"I really have to go," she said, horrified at the honest regret that shone through her voice. It was one in the morning, she was freezing, and she needed to get home. Not - not have a conversation about books and authenticity with Richard_ freaking _Castle.

"I don't even know your name," he complained, and there was something slightly ridiculous, but also adorable to his pouty mouth.

"Kate," she found herself murmuring, against all reason.

"Kate," he repeated slowly, as if savoring it. "I like it. Kate."

He looked at her with a smile, his eyes crinkling like they did on that book jacket, and leaned in; for a breathless, stunned second, she was certain he was going to kiss her.

But his lips only brushed her cheek, lingered for a long moment before he straightened up. "It was lovely meeting you, Kate."

He took out his phone, a fancy thing that could probably do a hundred things besides calling and texting, and he told her, "I'm calling a cab, if you want to share-"

She shook her head. "I've got mine. Thanks."

He started talking to someone at the taxi company, his eyes finally leaving hers, focusing on some faraway part of the street, and Beckett took her chance.

She fled.


	2. Chapter 2

_January, 2004_

Five years. Five years since her mother had been stabbed to death in that alley, while Kate and her dad sat in the restaurant without her, ignorant, oblivious. _Luigi's_. Johanna had always loved Italian food.

Beckett stared at the ceiling, cold despite the covers piled up on top of her bed, and listened to the angry beats of her heart, wondering if it would ever stop.

If the pain would ever dull.

The therapist she'd seen then had promised her that the wound would heal, but somehow, as the years passed and her mother's absence remained a sharp knife between her ribs, a jagged blade that twisted viciously on days like this, Beckett found herself doubting the woman's words.

She stayed in bed for a moment more, eyes fixed above her, her body very still, as if the slightest move might disturb the grief swirling inside her. Might make it worse than it already was.

Then her alarm rang, and she knew it was six, time for her to get up, shower, get dressed, eat something before she took the subway to the precinct. Time to live her life.

Her _life._

As if she had one.

* * *

"Hey, Beckett."

She muttered something back, didn't bother to raise her eyes; she knew that voice. Officer Marshall, a cute guy with tousled hair and very green eyes, the only one that hadn't yet given up on trying to make friends with her.

Sooner or later, he would realize.

Kate Beckett didn't need friends, and didn't want them. Lanie was the exception that proved the rule.

So she focused on the report in her hands, reading extra slowly to make sure Marshall would be gone by the time she reached the last line. And he was. She allowed herself a tiny sigh of relief, then grabbed a pen and signed her name at the bottom of the report.

"Beckett!"

This time her head came up without hesitation, trained as she was to answer the calls of any Vice detective. "Yeah?"

"Need you in the conference room," Osborne told her, walking past the desk she shared with a couple uniforms.

Kate looked down at her father's watch, the watch he'd given her for Christmas, and her heart sunk when she realized how early it was. 10:32. The day was just going to stretch on forever, wasn't it?

Well. Maybe, if she was lucky, she'd get assigned some more paperwork. Or sent off to pick up a suspect. Oh, she hoped for the suspect. She needed to burn all that extra energy; she needed to _do _instead of think.

That was her best hope for today.

No thinking.

* * *

They wanted her to act as bait again.

It wasn't that she minded exactly, but - yes, she_ did _wonder if the only reason she'd been assigned to Vice was because of her looks, and to be honest, she was getting a little tired of it. Hell, she'd been first in her class at the Academy, and it certainly had a lot more to do with her brains than with her body.

But nobody seemed to care much for her brains, did they?

Beckett pressed her lips tight and tried to refrain from sulking, focused her attention on the meeting again. This time the operation was considerably more organized, involved a larger number of people; if everything went as planned, they would take down Velasquez.

Lock him away. For good.

Kate knew Detective Osborne had been slowly gathering information against the man, but she hadn't realized how much he had accumulated over the past few weeks. She couldn't help but be a little impressed.

When the meeting was over and everybody got up to leave, Osborne turned to Kate, standing between her and the door. "You okay with this, Beckett?" he asked, eyebrows drawn as he studied her. "I know you're young, but you're the only one we've got who can play that part. And you've handled yourself well before."

Was he asking if she could do this? Shit, had she said anything-

"I'm good, sir. I can do it."

Hell, she was not going to pass up the chance to be a part of an operation like that. She knew what it could mean for her career.

Osborne looked thoughtful. "Okay," he said at last, opening the door for her. "Good."

Beckett's eyes landed for a second on the detective's hand, resting over the round doorknob like Kate herself couldn't possibly manage that, open the stupid door for herself, but she swallowed her frustration and stepped into the bullpen without saying a word.

It was a man's world.

She'd always known that.

And yeah, she missed Royce, the trust he'd always had in her, the respect he'd treated her with. Didn't matter to him that she was a woman, that she was smart. When she did wrong, he yelled at her; when she did good, he took her out for drinks.

But Royce was gone now. She worked for Vice, and these men were the only co-workers she was going to get; she just had to deal with it.

_Save your fight for when it counts, Beckett._

* * *

The neon sign of _Russian Angels_ looked sadly familiar, letters flickering in the falling darkness, both 'i' and 'l' probably on the verge of extinction.

Kate turned her eyes away, smoothed her dress, pushed her hair back.

Except it wasn't really _her _hair. They'd made her wear a wig this time, in the unlikely event that a customer or bouncer or bartender might recognize her; strangely enough, a long mane of blond, wavy hair had never featured at the forefront of Beckett's dreams.

She was wearing a different dress too, a dark, shimmery thing that showed off too much leg and too much cleavage, in her opinion; but the look in the eyes of the Vice detectives seemed to say otherwise.

Beckett smirked. College had given her something that had somehow never been obvious to her in high school - the knowledge, the assurance that she was hot. She didn't trust the other words, 'beautiful' or 'gorgeous' or 'stunning'; they meant nothing.

But she could see the way men looked at her when she wore skirts, when she had her hair down. They _noticed _her. And yeah, her hair was short now, but still - Kate knew.

She'd known for a while that she could use this to her advantage. She just... She didn't want to _have to._

Too late for that, she thought, skimming her fingers over the neckline of her dress, checking for the small bug that was hidden in there. This time she wouldn't be alone in the club: a Vice detective was already inside, hopefully mixing with the crowd, maybe even getting a visual on Velasquez.

They knew from an inside source that the man would be at the club tonight. All they had to do was to approach him without spooking him or his bodyguards, isolate and arrest him. Osborne had been very clear about this: he didn't want them to burst into the club, create a confusion that might allow Velasquez to escape. What he wanted was subtlety, and efficiency.

That was the reason why Kate was supposed to get to the pimp first, get his conversation with his associates on tape if she could. Osborne didn't just want the owner of the club; he also wanted to know who did what in the Velasquez organization.

Beckett wasn't wearing an earpiece this time. They had tried to limit the risks of her getting caught; the bug was the only thing that could give her away. Once inside the club, she was on her own. But her team would be listening to her every move, ready to intervene.

"I'm going in," she said quietly, knowing the bug would carry her words no matter what.

She clutched her tiny purse, took a deep, cleansing breath, and went to work.

* * *

The club was packed.

She almost took a step back, an overwhelming sense of agoraphobia washing over her, but her cop instincts took over and helped clear her head.

It was interesting, actually, that there were so many more people here compared to her last visit. Either the nightclub was really picking up, or Velasquez's network was expanding. She leaned towards the second explanation.

Beckett scanned the space, caught sight of Detective Johnson but didn't let her eyes stop on him for more than a split second. He was at the bar, deep in conversation with a couple men who looked like they belonged there; Kate resolutely headed for the back rooms.

No need to waste time.

The two men guarding the door could have been the same as last time; they were every bit as bulky and intimidating. Only someone very observant - or someone whose job it was to notice these things - could have told they were different people.

She strode towards them, swinging her hips, adopting a more straightforward, confident approach. If she believed in her own story, they would believe it too.

"Hi, guys," she said with a slow smile, deliberately dropping her eyelids, sizing them up. The Russian accent seemed to be doing it; an almost smile flashed across the face of the shorter man.

"Is Mr. Velasquez expecting you?" his partner asked, his cold eyes revealing how unimpressed he was.

"No," she said, and she wrapped a strand of fake blonde hair around her index finger, giggled lightly. "But you see," she went on when she had the men's attention, "I'm a surprise for him. Present. From Nikolai."

If Osborne's information was right, Velasquez was doing business with the Russian mafia, and had met a few times with a man who called himself Nikolai Lyubov. If not...

The two men exchanged a look, and the taller one looked back, staring as if he were trying to read her mind. Thank god he couldn't.

"Show us your purse," he said, gesturing to her tiny clutch.

Beckett laughed, made it long and throaty as she flipped her hair back. "Boys, really. You do not ask to see a woman's purse."

The vein on the man's neck pulsed. "Purse," he said simply, icy and irrevocable.

She sighed, held it out for them. "If you insist."

They looked inside, fingers almost too thick to zip the thing open; when they were satisfied that nothing dangerous was contained in the ridiculous space, they gave it back to her.

As if she was going to keep her gun inside her purse. Honestly.

But she was in; she was_ in_ and it was all that mattered.

* * *

Just like the main room, the back space was crowded; Beckett took a couple steps and assessed the situation, decided that Velasquez was probably at the table where people laughed the loudest and smoked the most.

She made her way there, slow and deliberate, stood in front of the table until all eyes had turned to her. And then she dropped her hands to the dark, shiny wood, her weight resting on her wrists, arching her back as she stared into Velasquez's eyes.

He looked a lot like he had in the picture Osborne had shown her, unexpectedly young - around thirty-five or so - and handsome in a rough way, as if he had spent most of his youth outside, in a cold, windy place that had shaped the straight nose, the high cheekbones, the almond-shaped eyes that seemed always squinting.

"Mr. Velasquez, I presume," Kate said quietly, satisfied with the sexy echo of her voice in the sudden silence. She let the corner of her mouth curl up, her eyes never straying from the man's.

She was surprised when he held her gaze, didn't even glance at her chest that, she knew, was very much exposed from the way she was leaning in.

"And you are?" he answered calmly, barely a touch of curiosity in his voice.

"I am your present," she declared confidently, tilting her head, feeling the blonde hair spread over her shoulder. It was strange, knowing it wasn't hers, even if the imitation was good. "The present Nikolai sent you."

Something flashed in Velasquez's eyes, too quick for her to identify, and she prayed to god that their information was right. They probably wouldn't kill a cop - and she could surely fight her way out - but she didn't feel a great compulsion to find out about either of those things.

"Nikolai, uh," the club owner said slowly. "Well, isn't that lovely of him. Gentlemen, make room for this charming young lady."

Some of the men slid out of the seats they'd slouched into; they left an empty space next to Velasquez, and he nodded towards it. Beckett moved, taking her time, dragged her hand down the pimp's arm as she sinked down to her seat.

"You're strong," she purred, leaving her fingers at the crook of his elbow.

He barked out a laugh, didn't look impressed. She made a note to herself: _Impervious to flattery_.

"You know my name, but I don't know yours," he remarked, and she again heard the steel underneath the apparent velvet of his voice. This man wasn't easily fooled; Beckett felt her insides clench with apprehension.

"I am Irina," she offered, smiling invitingly. "And tonight," she added, hoping to soften him, "I am yours."

He was looking at her still, appraising her; his fingers came up to cup her chin, lifted her face for inspection. "You really are gorgeous," and the tone he used, indifferent, like he was talking about the weather - it sent shivers down her spine. "Nikolai sent you, you say. Now, why would he do that?"

Ah.

"He wants to make sure. That you and him are friends. Very, very good friends," she promised, sliding her hand from his elbow down to his thigh. She felt ridiculous, because he wasn't responding at all, but she didn't have a better plan.

"Very good friends. Even though he refused my business proposal. Now, that's interesting."

Shit.

"Nikolai wants to say, maybe he refused that one, but that doesn't mean he refuses all of them." Her heart pulsed with apprehension and adrenaline; Beckett shifted her leg under the table, taking comfort in the feel of the gun at her inside thigh.

Velasquez watched her, dark eyes almost thoughtful. It felt like progress - some sort of progress, anyway. "Pablo," he called suddenly, making everybody at the table jump. Everybody except a man whose suit looked too tight for his bulky shoulders, a man with grey, emotionless eyes.

"Sir."

"Call Nikolai Lubya. Ask him if he knows a certain Irina, and if he's sent her here tonight. Go now."

Pablo nodded, disappeared without another word. Velasquez turned back to Kate and smiled, no amusement, no affection to the lift of his lips. "We'll see if you are who you pretend to be," he said, almost amicably.

His fingers skimmed her cheek, danced along a wave of blonde hair. "Gorgeous," he said again, and it was all she could do to silence the repulsed shudder of her heart.

* * *

They were playing cards, along with drinking and taking frequent trips to the bathroom; Kate watched, didn't dare to even touch her fingers to her dress to make sure the bug was still in place.

She hoped it was; she hoped Osborne was getting all of this.

If they got nothing more, at least they'd have names, at least they'd have an idea of the hierarchy at play here. It was subtle, but if you listened to the lilt of voices, watched who averted their eyes and who didn't - it all said a lot, probably a lot more than these men intended.

Velasquez's hand was on her thigh, his thumb hooked at the hem of her dress, but it wasn't moving. In fact, he didn't look like he was paying a lot of attention to her. Which made Beckett all the more jittery inside.

Pablo still hadn't come back.

She wasn't worried. She wasn't. Osborne had planned for this; the van was parked in a parallel street, and they had the means to intercept the call.

It would be fine.

Velasquez won the round of poker, not a hint of triumph displayed on his face, and gathered the chips, adding them to the already considerable pile in front of him.

_You're good player,_ Kate almost said, but flattery was not the way with him. "You're lucky," she said instead.

He grunted. "Nothing to do with luck. Poker is about observation."

She bobbed her head. "And acting, no? You cannot play if you cannot bluff."

He gave her a long, calculating look. "Are you good at poker, Irina?"

She laughed, and almost scared herself with how amused she sounded. Jeez, she'd missed her calling; she should have been standing on a theater stage. "Me? I am terrible. But my brother, he used to be very good. He told me a lot about poker."

"Your brother," Velasquez echoed, with that same blankness, that complete lack of interest in his inflection. "Where is he now?"

"Dead," she answered without a second of hesitation, matter-of-fact. "He messed with the wrong people."

His dark eyes turned to her, sharp and swift, before he looked back at the table, then at his hand of cards. "That was reckless of him."

"It was," she agreed quietly, peacefully. They said nothing more, but she felt the beginning of a connection there, like maybe he was starting to believe her.

Or maybe he was just silently considering ways to get rid of her. It was hard to tell.

The next time she raised her eyes, Pablo had materialized out of nowhere. Beckett tried not to let her tension show, keep her shoulders relaxed, her breathing steady. She had nothing to fear; Johnson was in the next room, ready to help if she needed him.

Pablo met Velasquez's eyes and nodded once, firmly. If she had doubts about what that meant, the way Velasquez's fingers curled around her thigh instantly removed them.

"Well, sweetheart," he said, his voice deep, something like pleasure coloring it. "Sounds like you were telling the truth after all."


	3. Chapter 3

Velasquez waited until the next round of poker was over, then gestured to one of his underlings to come and pick up his winnings. He stood up, a hand curled at Kate's elbow, and she had no choice but to follow.

"Let's go," he said curtly, and relief spread into her chest, loosened her muscles. This was what she'd been waiting for all along, what her team wanted.

To get Velasquez alone, isolated, where his arrest couldn't make any ripples.

He directed them to a small door that she hadn't noticed before; it was hidden in a corner, and the exact same color as the wall. He paused when they reached it, and she realized Pablo had followed them, was pulling a chain off his neck, a chain with a tiny key on it.

It happened the moment he pushed the key into the lock. Beckett made the mistake of turning her head, glancing at the men who were sitting at the next table, and that's when she saw him.

Rick Castle.

Problem was, he saw her too. And worse - he recognized her.

"Kate," he exclaimed, half-rising from his chair, that surprised-happy look on his face that would have been adorable in any other situation.

Just not in a nightclub where she was masquerading as Irina, a sexy Russian hooker; not with Velasquez standing right there, entirely too close, danger radiating off him.

She couldn't help her startled breath, couldn't help the way her body swayed back in shock and denial, her teeth clenched - only the barest of reactions, but of course it was enough to alert the man who still held her arm.

Fingers flexed, digging into the tender skin of her forearm, as Velasquez spun her towards him. "What did he call you?"

Oh, no_. No._ "I use many names," she offered, but the explanation came too late, breathless, didn't convince him.

He gave a little jerk of his head and seconds later Pablo was grabbing Castle, manhandling him in spite of the writer's protests. The room, that had gone silent for a brief moment, filled with sounds again; clearly the customers knew when to look away.

Velasquez dragged her towards a different door, his hand a steel claw on her wrists, and she couldn't decide whether to go with it or fight him, because it could still work, right? The plan could still work; _isolated_ could mean him and Pablo pulling her and Castle into some interrogation room, and it could work-

The door opened onto a flight of stairs. She almost tripped in her heels as Velasquez tugged her after him, found herself looking back over her shoulder, catching Castle's eye.

He looked scared, like he was trying to put up a brave front and failing, and that, strangely, was the thing that made her determined, confident again. He was a civilian - she had no idea what he was doing in that club (_again_) but whatever the cause, it wasn't his fault he'd gotten entangled in this.

She had to protect him.

It was her _job_ to protect him.

The stairs led into an underground garage, and she realized with icy, dreadful clarity that this had not been part of Osborne's plan. The guys at the 12th didn't know anything about a hidden garage; they would never expect Velasquez to get out this way. Shit.

The door slammed after Pablo and Castle, and she made a snap decision. She tensed her arms and circled them quickly, forcing Velasquez to release the grip he still had on her wrists. In the same movement she reached under her dress, her fingers closing on her gun, and she lifted it to train-

"Whoa, easy, little tigress," came Pablo's low, drawling voice. He sounded awfully secure, too, and her heart sunk as she turned her head slowly, unwilling to let Velasquez out of her sight.

Pablo's gun was at Castle's temple, his arm twisting the writer's behind his back; the blue eyes that had been so warm and playful that night, a few weeks ago, were now hard and afraid.

"No need to hold me so tight," Castle joked half-heartedly. "I know I'm pretty, but-"

The butt of the gun came down against his skull, a heavy thud that silenced him, made Beckett's teeth clench.

"Shut up," Pablo said. Then, to Velasquez- "You need to go, boss."

"He's not going anywhere," Kate reminded them both, adjusting her hold on the gun she was pointing towards the pimp. She needed to buy time, just a little time, just enough that the cavalry would get there-

The two men ignored her.

"We don't know that she's a cop," Velasquez objected.

"Trust me, she is. And she's not doing this alone, either. Just get in the car and drive, boss."

Velasquez looked like he was going to argue, but he changed his mind after a few seconds, took a step back as he dug into his pocket, probably looking for his keys.

"I swear, if you take another step, I will shoot you," Beckett promised, trying to sound more confident than she felt.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you. Unless you want me to shoot your boyfriend over here," Pablo announced calmly, as if he were discussing the weather. "Which of course, is perfectly doable."

Oh god, what was she supposed to do? What would Mike have done? They'd taught her how to deal with hostage taking in the Academy, but the knowledge felt useless now. It had never beenreal; not like this.

She was screwed.

Velasquez disappeared behind a row of cars and she growled, pivoted towards Pablo instead, couldn't do anything else if she wanted to keep Castle alive. She was fairly sure that Pablo would act on his threat, and she was supposed to protect civilians before anything else, serve the people of New York City. Wasn't she?

Ugh, where was Osborne when she needed him?

She heard a car start and frustrated tears pricked her eyes, tears that she immediately pushed back. But damn, to have come so close-

The car, a black SUV with tinted windows, came into view, turning around the corner and speeding up as it raced towards them; Beckett shot at the windshield once, twice before she had to jump out of the way, the van blocking her view of Pablo and Castle.

The screech of brakes, the sound of a door opening, and she realized too late what was happening: Pablo was jumping into the car. But was he shoving Castle inside too? She swore loudly, got to her feet as the van started again, and aimed carefully for the tire.

She shot once, twice, but it didn't stop them: the SUV disappeared through an exit on the opposite side of the garage, and Kate finally dropped her gun, frustration pulsing in her chest. She'd memorized the plates, but she doubted anything would come of it. At least, she saw with a flash of relief as she glanced across, Castle was here, unharmed. They hadn't taken him.

Actually, for someone who'd just had a gun pointed at him, he didn't exactly look traumatized. He looked-

psyched.

Beckett pressed her lips together, let her eyes snap shut for a moment, tried to keep it together. _She _sure wasn't psyched.

Shit, she couldn't believe it. Velasquez and Pablo both gone, and she hadn't even gotten a bullet into one of them - she _sucked._ But if Castle hadn't been in the way, hadn't called her Kate at the worst of times...

Beckett gave up, cursed loudly, slamming her fist into the nearest car.

The alarm went off, almost spooked her, and she swayed on her feet, stunned at her own stupidity. No, not stupidity - _incompetence-_

"Beckett!"_  
_

Her head swiveled; the door to the staircase had opened to reveal a somewhat flustered Detective Johnson. _About damn time._

"What the hell happened back there?" he asked, looking around, clearly as surprised by the garage as she had been. "I made my way in when I heard the bustle in the back room, but you were gone and the door was locked-"

Ah, shit. The door locked from the inside. That explained it.

"They got away," she said shortly, hated the sound of the words.

_I let them get away._

* * *

She looked both furious and utterly disappointed as she answered the other cop's questions.

Under the smoky make-up, the blonde hair, the tight clothes, she also looked awfully young; but she radiated something, a determination, a fierceness that made Rick appreciative of the cop's courage. He wasn't sure he would have dared to approach her right then.

The door they had come through slammed open once again, a sharp sound that had him jerking, and a crowd of cops burst into the garage, weapons drawn, barking orders at each other.

The writer didn't move, put on his best _I'm innocent_ face.

But his eyes were still on Kate, and he watched as she squared her shoulders, rose her chin, wiped her face clear of any emotion.

"Beckett," called the man who seemed to be leading, a tall, lean, grey-haired guy.

That was her boss then, uh? And who was the first guy - her partner? Didn't do a very good job of it, Rick thought, a strange burst of protectiveness in his chest.

"They got away, sir," she said calmly, her jaw set. "I tried to stop them, but they had a civilian hostage-" she nodded towards him, "-and I had to make a choice."

A younger cop, tall and blue-eyed, came between the writer and Kate, asking something about being armed; Rick raised his arms without listening, stepped to the side so he could follow the conversation.

But the cop kept talking to him, distracting him with questions about his health (_no, _he wasn't injured - wasn't that obvious, for god's sake?) and he couldn't get the rest of it, could only watch as Kate's superior walked away, his stride quick and sharp as he moved towards the exit that the car had disappeared through.

"Sir? We're gonna need you to answer a few questions. Sir."

Rick tore his eyes away from Kate's slim, disheartened form - Beckett, the man had called her? That was her last name? - and sighed, realizing, now that the adrenaline was wearing off, that he was in for some not-so-fun times.

Oh, and also-

Damn.

Kate had been on a sort of mission, hadn't she? The wig, the hooker clothes, the gun that she's gotten out so fast (was she wearing a thigh holster? Because if she was, that was the hottest... off track, he was getting off track). She'd been on a mission, whatever it was, and he probably had-

completely screwed it up.

Shit.

And to think he'd been so happy to see her again.

* * *

By the time they all stepped back into the street, Beckett felt ready to explode. If she got one more condescending look, if she got one more comment about it not being her fault, how she had _done her best_, she swore she was going to-

Murder one of them. If not all.

Osborne hadn't even yelled at her. He'd looked pissed, yes, furious, actually; but he had turned away and gotten himself under control, and she almost...resented him for it. Because if she had been a man - he would have yelled then, would have let it all out, and she did _not_ want to be protected like a little girl.

She was not a fragile thing.

She'd screwed up; she wanted to be told so. How else was she supposed to ever trust the compliments that were made her?

True, it wasn't all her fault, but if she hadn't talked to Castle that night, weeks ago, if she hadn't given him her name - Velasquez would have been in their custody right now. Instead he'd gotten away.

The other cops were all riding back to the precinct in the van, or going home, but Beckett was too ticked off to go with them. So when everybody had left, she found herself alone with Castle on the sidewalk. The writer was still hovering near, clearly didn't want to leave her side; it was sweet, sort of, or it would have been if apology hadn't been radiating off him in strong waves, threatening to suffocate her.

"Castle," she said sharply, surprising herself. Something about his last name felt right; she couldn't even think of him as _Rick_ or Richard.

He came when she called, so eager; she almost winced.

"Don't beat yourself up," she dropped flatly, failing to infuse some warmth to her voice. "Wasn't your fault."

It was cold outside, and she shivered as she spoke. She needed a cab, since she had been stupid enough to say no to Osborne; there was no way she was walking home.

"If I hadn't called your name," Castle said, sounding ashamed.

"If I hadn't told you my name," Beckett shot back automatically. "No point in doing this. It's nobody's fault, just bad luck."

He remained silent for a moment, as if absorbing her unstated forgiveness, but when she turned, fighting with the clasp of her clutch to get at her phone, Castle was already dialing.

Well-

"Calling a car service. Wanna share?" he asked, nodding at his phone. She gave a half-shrug, the most graceful acceptance she could manage right then.

Kate listened to the way his voice unfurled in the darkness, filling the empty spaces of the night, felt her anger lulled to sleep. She really liked his voice.

When he hung up, he turned back and considered her, arched an eyebrow. "If I offer you my coat, any chance you'll take it this time?"

She couldn't help the tiny smile that curled her lips, tried to disguise it as a smirk. "No."

He heaved a dramatic sigh, but his eyes held a mixture of amusement and dancing interest. He didn't insist.

"So," he said, coming closer - not enough that they would touch, but enough that she could feel his warmth - "who was that guy I inadvertently helped escape?"

"Antonio Velasquez," she answered tiredly. "Drug dealer. Pimp. Half of his 'employees' are underage."

The disgust in the author's eyes morphed into horror; the way he stared at her made her regret her words. She suddenly remembered that he had a daughter - she had read that somewhere, probably on his fan site - and wondered how old the girl was.

"Hey," she said, softer this time. "Not your fault, okay? We'll catch him next time."

Or so she hoped. Castle nodded, his face serious, sober, and she wanted his smile again.

"What were you doing in _Russian Angels_ again, anyway?" she asked, lifting an eyebrow. "Didn't get enough 'authenticity' last time?"

He gave a surprised, breathless little laugh, and she thought she could detect a hint of embarrassment underneath. Funny, Richard Castle didn't strike her as the type of man who was easily made uncomfortable.

"Guess I just really like that club," he shrugged, his voice too light-hearted to be sincere. He moved away from her, rested a shoulder against a streetlight, didn't look back.

"Car's probably gonna be here any minute," he said.

She didn't answer; she was too busy studying him, the falsely nonchalant pose, the way he'd buried his hands in his pockets.

"Seriously? _You just really like that club_? A club you got thrown out of, where half the customers are hookers and the other half drug-dealers?"

He smirked, his profile sharp and rugged against the surrounding darkness, and for a split second he became a completely different man, a smug asshole, someone she didn't want to have anything to do with. "What can I say? I'm a bad boy, Kate."

She'd heard that about him, yeah. But she also remembered the way he'd come to her rescue that first night in the club, how he'd helped her without asking for anything in exchange, and that just - it didn't add up.

"I don't believe you," she said with a firm shake of her head.

Doubt flickered across his face, so fast she almost didn't catch it. "Don't see why not," he answered lightly, something forced in his smile. "Everybody else seems to."

"And of course tabloids always print the truth," she sneered, unable to help herself.

It made no sense at all; why did he seem so completely okay with, accepting, even, of the trash that some reporters wrote about him? Her favorite writer. She stepped closer, intrigued, puzzled by that man.

"Come on, Castle. You can tell me. I won't rat you out. What were you really doing in that club?"

He didn't say a word, but his eyes betrayed him, flicked to her for the briefest second before he resumed staring into the night. Uh.

"Me?" she said, disbelieving, an edge of laughter to her voice. "How does your being here have anything to do with me?" Surely she'd misunderstood, but if it lead her to the truth...

Castle turned to her though, an eyebrow raised; he didn't seem amused.

"Maybe I wanted to see you again," he shrugged, a challenging glint to his eye. "Maybe you intrigued me so much that I couldn't stop thinking about you when I got home. Maybe I spent the last few weeks lamenting the fact that I didn't get your last name."

Her jaw dropped a little, her heart skipping a few beats even as her mind refused to believe it. An adorably crooked smile played on his lips as he finished, "Maybe I made you out to be a CIA agent on a very secret mission. Just a little bit."

Was he _serious_? Kate felt her cheeks heat up and willed the blush away, couldn't let this ridiculous man see how he affected her.

"CIA agent, uh?"

He grinned, unapologetic, so handsome, the way the lights played with the line of his jaw. "Always had a thing for the CIA."

What a child. And yet-

"How disappointed are you that I'm only a cop?" she teased, because it was easy, so natural she couldn't help herself.

He bobbed his head at her, still smiling. "Not very," he said, wriggling an eyebrow. "Cop's pretty high on my list, too."

Oh god, next he was going to ask her about the handcuffs. She winced, and waited - but he didn't. In fact, the admiration and interest that shone in his eyes really did look...genuine.

Oh, jeez. Well, the night couldn't possibly get worse, could it? She'd already hit rock bottom.

So she fisted her hands on the lapels of Richard Castle's jacket, pulled their bodies flush, and she pushed her mouth into his.


	4. Chapter 4

He hadn't expected her to kiss him.

In fact, her kissing him had been so far from his mind that for a few seconds he just stood there and took it, frozen, hands hanging at his sides. Her tongue between his lips lifted the spell, though, and his fingers found the soft hair at her nape, her own dark strands now that she'd ditched the blond wig.

He liked her better as a brunette; the wig had been sexy, sure, but she already radiated such an aura of mystery and power that she didn't need it at all.

His other hand curled at Kate's waist, drawing her closer, and she moaned softly into his mouth, the most beautiful sound he'd heard in a long time.

He couldn't keep from swearing under his breath when the horn of the car interrupted them, but she laughed against his lips, her breath warm and close; her eyes danced when she stepped back.

She opened the door of the town car and slid in, threw him a look that was part challenge and part invitation. He didn't hesitate, took the seat next to her, his insides flipping when her knee brushed against his.

She gave the driver her address, her voice clear and sure, unwavering. He was wondering if he should maybe give his as well, but then her lips were at his neck, the nip of her teeth, and there was no room for thought anymore.

The ride was short, or maybe it was just that he was thoroughly distracted. She had wandering hands, and her fingers were cool like the winter air as they skimmed over his skin; he was proud that he managed to keep his voice under control.

Wouldn't have done to scream like a girl.

Kate wouldn't let him pay for the ride. She squeezed her left fingers over his thigh, tight enough to bruise, as she fished in her tiny purse, pulled out a twenty; she told the driver to keep the change, pushed Castle out of the car.

Well, that solved the question of whether or not he was allowed to come up. He followed her inside, his inquisitive eyes taking everything in, the brown mailboxes that covered part of the wall on his right, the tiles that were probably meant to imitate marble, the sober, surprisingly white paint.

The building was obviously well-kept, and located in an area of the city that he would have thought was too expensive for a cop. Either Kate had some family money, or she'd gotten an amazing deal here.

The elevator was small but elegant, wooden panels that surrounded a floor-length mirror; Kate crowded into him as soon as the doors glided shut, a palm splayed on his chest until his back hit the wall with a thump.

Jeez, she was so hot. Her lashes concealed part of her eyes as she stared at his mouth, eyeing him like he was chocolate or something equally delicious; he could see her chest rise with her every breath, the dress so tight, so revealing.

Gorgeous.

He had never seen a woman so slender and strong at once, had never even imagined that such long, graceful limbs could hold so much power. She was like a panther, a tigress, something fierce and ferocious, indomitable. And yet - that first night - she had looked so young, her tired face so vulnerable under the streetlights-

Her mouth collided with his and he was ready this time; he wanted her. She played with his lower lip, teased him, her tongue warm and nimble; and then she stroked inside and he gave back, gave her everything, encouraged by the brush of her fingers at his side, completely turned on by the humming sound she made.

The elevator dinged its arrival, but Kate didn't let go. She slowly guided him backwards, her mouth still working at his, lighter kisses as she eased her way along his jaw - oh, she was _delicious. _She tasted dark and sweet, innocent and rich, and he wasn't sure he'd ever been so enthralled, so captivated with a woman.

He was probably in over his head with her.

He should have been making up some excuse to vanish on her, run back to the loft, hole up in his study where he was safe, where his heart was protected. He had a ten-year-old daughter and he couldn't run that risk, couldn't bring a woman into Alexis's life only to watch her leave months later, abandoning him and his child.

But he didn't move. He watched as Kate wrestled with her apartment keys, unlocked the door for them; then she reached back to him and pulled him inside with her, and he didn't resist.

Her place, just like the building, was nicer, larger than he'd pictured. Not that he got to see much of it, because the moment the door snapped shut behind them she was all over him again, fingers in his hair and under his shirt and palming his ass, her wicked tongue burning its way through his mouth.

He groaned, felt himself responding to it, the eagerness, the heated press of her body against his. It was what he wanted, right? It was what he'd wanted from the moment he'd seen her in that club, her slim body in that too-short skirt, that sparkling top-

She bit at his lip, made his hips come up against hers, and he gritted his teeth against the growl that wanted out. It was what he wanted, but-

He broke the kiss, panting, caught her hand before it could sneak into his jeans. Jeez, she had his buttons undone already. He usually worked fast, but that was...Huh. Too fast. Interesting. "Kate-"

"Can't keep up?" she challenged breathlessly, her eyes so dark, large and liquid in the dimness. Oh god, oh god, she was so beautiful; he hadn't felt such a pull towards a woman in forever, since Kyra maybe, and even Kyra-

Kate's mouth was at his neck again, suckling on the sensitive skin, and he moaned, felt her fingers at the waistband of his boxers. His eyes slid shut, his breath trapped in his lungs; he found it harder to resist her this time.

Still, he curled his hands at her biceps, tried to push back, catch her eyes. "Hey, hey," he said, soothingly he'd hoped, but his voice came out as a pitiful rasp. "Hey, Kate. Slow down."

"What? Why?" She sounded uncomprehending and vaguely irritated, and she went for his mouth regardless, her lips so hot, burning against his own.

It only made him more determined to stop. "Kate," he warned, stepping back, a hand at her stomach to hold her away. She stared at him, equal parts frustrated and pissed now, her cheeks gloriously flushed.

"What's wrong?"

That was a good question; he wasn't sure himself what the answer was. Some part of his mind kept screaming at him to just go ahead, take her to bed, or the couch, or the wall - whatever worked. But somehow...

He wanted more? Was that it? Oh, wow.

He wanted more.

More than the sex.

The realization sent his mind spinning.

He cleared his throat, noticed the impatience that shone in Kate's eyes, the way she'd folded her arms over her chest, so intimidating for someone so young.

"How old are you?" he asked suddenly, finding himself wondering. She made a small, exasperated sound at the back of her throat and _rolled her eyes_ at him.

"Old enough to be a cop, Castle," she pointed out, the _duh _contained in her voice. She took a step toward him. "Now, if that's your only concern, I'd like to get back-"

"How old," he repeated, his curiosity an unfed beast inside him, hungry. He needed to know.

Everything. He needed to know everything.

She regarded him, her mouth parted in surprise, her brow knitting. "What does it matter?"

He shrugged, tried to play it cool - but too late. She wasn't buying it. "I want to know," he said honestly. "I wanna know things about you."

He could have been weaving a story about alien invasions and CIA involvement; the expression on her face would have been the same.

"What," she dropped, not really a question, only shock rolling out of her mouth. Oh. He hadn't made himself clear, had he?

"I like you," he said, found himself canting closer this time, eager to seal his words with touches. "Kate."

But she moved back, her hands raised in some sort of plea, shook her head at him. "Whoa. No. That's not - Castle. No. I can't...Not now. Please. I just need to not be thinking." She looked into his eyes, confused but determined at the same time. "Please. I can't give you more than that, just - help me not think tonight."

She curled her lower lip between her teeth, watching him. It was both adorable and so hot; he had no idea how she did that.

He closed the space between them and freed her abused bottom lip, laved it with his tongue; she let out a long sigh and her arms came up, wound around his neck. "How about a compromise," he murmured against her mouth, couldn't let go of her.

"I'm listening."

She shivered when he kissed her neck, the tender spot where it met her shoulder.

"I provide the distraction," he offered, licked at her ear. She seemed to like that. "But in exchange, you have to tell me things about yourself." He slid his hands up her back, found the zipper of her little black dress. "One piece of information for every item of clothing removed," he bargained, his mouth at her temple.

She groaned, though in response to his words or touch, he couldn't be sure. "My clothes?"

"Both," he said, trailing his lips over her cheekbone, the so-soft skin.

"Mine," she replied firmly, and he felt a jolt through his body when he realized she was negotiating with him, wasn't giving up anything, even now, with her body arched and taut against his. God, how _hot_ was that?

"Deal," he surrendered, couldn't wait one moment more to lift her up, his hands under her thighs as she gripped his neck, wrapped her legs around his thighs. She made a lovely, raw, wanting sound, her mouth open at his jaw, irresistible; he had to gather himself before he could start walking them towards the corridor.

"Bedroom's the first door on your left," she whispered in his ear, and he squeezed her ass as a thank you, reveled in the low hiss that she let out.

* * *

Oh, they were going to have _fun_.

"Twenty-four," she confessed breathlessly when he pushed her down on the bed, undid the complicated lace-up that circled around her ankle, held her spiky heel in place.

He paused for a second and Kate kept her eyes shut tight, didn't want to see the expression on his face. _Don't stop, don't stop, _she mentally urged. So what if they were born ten years apart? She didn't care, she didn't-

And then his lips were against her thigh, warm and delicate, and she let out a soft moan of pleasure, relief washing over her. She needed this, tonight, needed to not be thinking of her mom, of the busted arrest, of the fragile construction that was her life.

She wanted to be feeling instead.

His mouth and fingers danced up her leg slowly, spun caresses along the sensitive skin; then he brushed against the line of her panties, made her arch off the bed on a gasp. But he was only teasing her, giving her tantalizing glimpses of what he wouldn't give her just yet, because he moved back down again, light kisses to her knee, her calf as he worked the second shoe off.

The moist, heated trail stopped then. Her mind started to clear, the haze dissipating, and she _didn't want _that - what the hell was he doing? She slit her eyes open, pushed herself up on her elbow so she could meet his gaze.

A blue, laughing, expectant gaze.

Oh, jeez. Was he _serious?_

_"_Ugh," she hissed, dropping her head back to the bed. Fine, fine. What could she- "Favorite color's purple," she blurted randomly, the first thing that came to her mind.

He laughed, a smug, throaty sound that made her want to either hit him or screw him. Maybe both. "Purple," he echoed, sounding positively delighted, and before she could make any sort of answer he had his mouth on her again.

She breathed out in bliss, her eyelids sliding closed again, all of her focused on his lazy progression up her leg. His touch tingled and soothed and burned, fingers and tongue so light and clever, and when he reached a specific spot at the base of her thigh, under the knee, she cried out in surprise and pleasure.

Shit, oh that was good-

"Do that again," she urged roughly, nudging at him, all that beautiful tension coiling up in her body.

"Yeah? You like that?" he whispered, and normally she wouldn't have participated in feeding a guy's ego, especially not someone like Rick Castle, but there was a tenderness, a genuine awe in his voice that made her cave in.

"Yeah," she breathed, her teeth clamped to keep the moan inside.

His tongue flicked at the spot again, circled it, and Kate let out a muffled cry, felt her hips rising from the bed. Holy crap, he could have made her come just from this.

"We need to get that dress off you," he said, and her eyes opened to find him surveying her, a dark eagerness on his face that made her heart leap in her chest.

The hooker dress was bunched up around her waist - not that there was a lot of fabric to begin with - but the leather-like material clung to her stomach, her chest, so tight that she might actually need his help to get it off.

He probably wouldn't object to that.

She moved to sit up and Castle used the opportunity to fuse their mouths together, his solid arms coming to bracket her waist as his tongue slipped past her lips, stroked inside, so hot and devastating. She let him, stunned at the sheer speed, the vehemence of his assault, thrilled at how much he wanted her.

Her hands had fisted over the lapels of his shirt, already hanging half-open over his chest, but he pried them away gently even as his lips slanted over her neck.

"Need you to turn," he growled against her skin, the vibrations making her back arch. "So I can get at that zipper, Kate."

She hummed her agreement, then remembered their deal, let out a breathless laugh. "You just want more information on me," she shot back even as she obeyed, twisting in his arms so she could get on her knees, offer him her back.

"Hmm, that too," he admitted wolfishly, smiling against her shoulder. He pulled the zipper down, but took his time pushing the dress off her; his fingers ran over the expanse of her naked skin, traced mysterious patterns that made her throw her head back.

He pressed his mouth to a vertebra, followed the curve of her spine; she shivered, hard, couldn't help the trembling sound that was pushed out of her lips. Oh god, oh - she had never-

She had had great sex, she thought she had, but no one had ever taken their time with her - nothing like this.

It was agonizing. It was incredible.

She hadn't thought it was possible to want someone so badly. But she swore - ah, _shit - _if he didn't do something about it _soon-_

It was if he'd read her mind - and then done the opposite. He retreated, the burn of him receding like a wave, and arousal coiled even tighter in her belly, a fist, so hard she couldn't breathe.

"Your turn, Kate," he murmured, his voice husky and beautiful, and she blinked slowly, realized that the dress was no longer restraining her, formed a dark circle around her knees instead. Oh. Oh-

"I-" she couldn't think. Her mind wiped clean, blissfully blank, and he wanted... What, a dirty secret? "Tattoo," she dropped, hoped it wasn't too late for that one. "I have a tattoo."

He made a disbelieving noise at her back and she smirked, some of her control coming back, pride shimmering inside her at his surprise.

"Where," he interrogated quietly, his breath washing over her ear, so very hot. His palms came back, curled at her sides, his fingers pushing into the soft skin and making her gasp.

"Not - not the deal," she panted, wishing he'd move faster.

He splayed his hands over her stomach, _yes, please, that_, and his thumbs brushed up, skimmed the undersides of her breasts as his teeth nipped at her earlobe.

"You're the one that's not playing fair, Kate," he whispered, mesmerizing. "Not even a bra, huh? What am I supposed to do here?"

Shit, shit, he had to stop talking. He had to stop talking _now._

She moved fast, stepping out of the dress and then twirling back. She hardly had time to miss his hands on her that she had them back, cupping her ass, lifting her against him as she pushed his shirt out of her way. Their teeth clashed in their haste to kiss, but she couldn't even laugh or be embarrassed; there was no room for anything but the dark, swallowing want.

She hooked a leg around his waist, pulling their hips flush, moaning when she felt how hard he was, the taut line of his abs. Oh god, oh god, _naked_, why was he not naked? She needed him naked, please-

She rocked against him desperately, was rewarded by the low hiss he let out, the way he reached for and slammed their bodies together, giving her what she wanted, what she _ached _for.

"Castle-"

"Yeah, yeah," he groaned against her collarbone, and one of his hands finally deserted her to work at his own pants, undo that stupid button, tug the zipper down. She bit at his lower lip, kissed him fiercely, couldn't resist rolling her hips against his once more; he made a small sound at the back of his throat, and collapsed into her, pinning her to the mattress, his mouth still open at hers.

He thrusted into her, the barrier of their respective underwear still making it but a pale imitation of what she longed for, and she keened, could no longer hold it in, any of it. "Please," she begged, wasn't even ashamed of it. "Please."

He had to prop himself up, rest his weight on his elbow as he tugged his boxers down; she took the chance she was given of tracing the lines of his chest with light fingers, an unworthy, inappropriate payback for the state he'd worked her into.

"Kate," he breathed, his voice breaking, his eyes closed. She trailed her fingers down, found him, wrapped a loose hand around his length, the so-soft skin. He bowed over her, his forehead coming to rest at her shoulder, murmured something that had to be filthy.

She shimmied out of her panties, didn't even care that she couldn't push them all the way down, as long as they were out of the way, oh god _yes _- as long as she could guide him into her-

"Condom," he said suddenly, still breathless but some sharpness to the word. "Kate. Do you have-"

"I'm fine," she told him, felt like sobbing the words, her frustration reaching new heights with every second. Couldn't he just-

"No," he opposed, and there was such determination in his tone that she looked up at him in surprise, couldn't understand the set line of his jaw. "Not enough protection. And you don't know me, Kate. You can't trust me."

What the hell-

She stared at him, wordless, couldn't believe he was, what - giving her a _lesson? _Now?

"Condom," he nudged again, softer this time, a palm brushing over her breast. It sent a jolt of arousal through her, reminded her of the uncomfortable position she was in, and she reluctantly gave in.

"Top drawer," she said, nodding towards her bedside table.

He reached over her to retrieve one, undid the package in an expert gesture that she didn't want to think about. What did she care, anyway? When he was ready he leaned in to kiss her again, long and slow, and she felt her body respond to it, rise up eagerly.

"You owe me one last secret thing about yourself," he murmured into her mouth, smiling.

She...? Oh, her panties.

"Wasn't you who took them off," she pointed out, feeling rebellious.

"Be a good sport, Kate," he grinned, teasing her as he did, the tip of him sliding over her.

Oh, _fuck him._

She hooked a firm leg around his waist and spun them, sending him into the mattress with a winded puff of air, her knees landing on both sides of his hips. Ha. He wanted to know about her, uh?

Fine then.

"My mother was murdered," she threw at him, and then she glided down and took him inside herself.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N**: Forgot to say this at the beginning of last chapter, but yeah - this is M, people. So if you're underage, or not comfortable with it...You know what to do. :) Thanks to everyone for the awesome reviews; they mean a lot.

* * *

Oh,_ yeah. This_ - this was what she needed. Oh, oh, oh-

Kate closed her eyes and exhaled slowly, exquisite sensations flooding her brain as her body adjusted, remolded itself around him. She sunk as deep as she could, rocked a little, grinned at the strangled sound he made.

She hadn't - she hadn't done this in a while, sucked as she had been into life at the precinct, trying to be the best cop she could be; she had had no time to dedicate to a hypothetical love life.

But _god_, it was nice.

She leaned over a little, so she could rest her hands against his chest, give herself a better angle; Castle's fingers wrapped around her forearms and she took that as encouragement, lifted her hips slowly, slowly, torturing him as long as she could before she slammed down again.

He gasped and she felt his body jerk, all of him thrusting back, such delicious motion that spots of black swam into her vision, the pleasure sharp and sizzling in her blood. She gave up all restraint then, wasn't going to last anyway - her nails dug into his chest as she rode his hips, faster and faster, listening only to the rhythm that pounded in her heart, the song that her body sang, too loud for anything else to matter.

And then his hand found her, fingers pressing lightly against her clit, and she had no voice to tell him _harder, Castle, this is not going to work_ - but then it was, it _was_ working, and she felt her body shatter over him, seize up, her release coming in brutal, razor-edged jolts that threw her against him, her voice completely out of control, so loud and incoherent, so desperate that it didn't even sound like herself.

It took a long, long time for her to open her eyes again, start coming back to her senses.

That - wow. That had been the most intense...

She let out a slow breath against his chest, blinked, failing to find her center. Holy shit. She wasn't sure she could even move.

Kate licked her lips, pressed a faint echo of a kiss to Castle's skin. He deserved it, after-

Oh. But-

She frowned, thinking maybe she was imagining things, and shifted over him, gathering her arm to find purchase. Her hips skidded back, just a few inches, but enough for her to know. He hadn't...?

Kate's jaw dropped and she lifted her head to him, found his blue eyes watching her, serious, stunned; not at all the eyes of a man who was - had to be - painfully aroused.

What on earth-

"Your mother was _murdered?_"

* * *

Interestingly enough, horror was a strong enough feeling to combat arousal and come out, if not victorious, at least close. Castle was still aware, at some level, of the sharp ache, the throb of blood in the most sensitive part of him, but his brain had frozen, struggling with the hideous revelation still.

She was so young-

But he saw it now, the grief in her eyes, the open wound. He had _thought_ there was a story there - he had been fascinated by her since the first moment he'd seen her - but he had never expected it to be quite so...terrible.

Kate sighed - _sighed_ - and propped herself up on her elbows, pulled her lower lip between her teeth as she looked at him. "Look, I'm fine. It was five years ago. I'm fine."

If her voice hadn't almost broken on the word _five_, maybe he would have been more tempted to believe her. Maybe not.

"Kate-"

"Just forget it, okay?" she said impatiently. "I shouldn't have told you. I'm sorry. Now let's get back to this..." her hand trailed down his side, thumb brushing over his hipbone, but he caught her fingers, stayed them.

"Kate."

God, he felt like crying. He felt like crying _for her_, and he didn't know what to make of it, because it was stupid, and ridiculous - it wasn't him at all.

Her eyes had seemed green earlier, in the garage, but now they were all dark, annoyance and reluctance layered over the pulsing sorrow. "Come on," she murmured, and she laid down over him again, the delicate curves of her chest meeting his torso, making him grit his teeth. She kissed the hollow of his neck, slowly, moved on to his fast-beating jugular vein, the warmth of her lips doing nothing to slow his heart.

It was the way she did it, so gentle and heartfelt. He hadn't been kissed like that in years and years, in forever, and he had forgotten the power of it. Exhilarating, and so very hard to resist.

He closed his eyes, wished he could forget her words, forget the images they brought to mind; Kate in a black dress, her face pale and drawn, Kate crying herself to sleep at night. He thought of Alexis and shivered, couldn't even picture-

"Did they catch her killer?" he asked before he could help himself.

Her lips stilled against his jaw. He felt the long breath she sucked in, could almost touch her regret when she rested her forehead to his cheek. "Are you actually bringing this up right now?" she moaned, sounding equal parts frustrated and desperate. "Are you telling me you'd rather discuss my mother's murder than take care of-" she rolled her hips against his and he gasped, felt her surrounding him, so tight, so wet, "-your _very _urgent situation?"

Oh god. Oh god god god.

"I just-" he hissed when she moved above him, seamless, the feel of her body glorious against his, "I just think-"

"Clearly the thinking needs to stop," she said dryly, and her lips quirked at his mouth and - _she was making fun of him. _She was making fun of him and trying to have sex with him, and _god _she was so hot and in any other circumstances he would have been all over her_. _But she was twenty-four and her mother was dead; her mother had been_ murdered_.

Castle wrapped his arms around Kate's waist and rolled them over, nearly falling off the bed in the process; he swallowed her laugh, then the moan she let out as she hooked a leg around his thigh, allowed him deeper. Oh, the way her heel dug into his muscle-

"Did they catch the guy?" he asked again, breathless, so close to giving up. It was only the continuous jabs of his curiosity that kept him still, kept him from thrusting.

Kate's head dropped against the pillow, a disbelieving sound on her lips. "Do you think I'd be a cop if they had? Course not, Castle. Gang violence, they said. Random, unpredictable. Now move-"

He rewarded her by moving away and then close again, a long slide in that earned a breathy exhale from her. He had no idea how he had any control left at this point, but hell if he wasn't going to use it - she would come again before he did.

So he took his time, going as carefully as his own body would allow, trying different things and taking careful note of what caused her to twitch, what caused her to jerk, what had her swearing against his shoulder in the roughest, sexiest voice he'd ever heard.

Shallow, shallow, deep. He picked up a rhythm she seemed to like, if her gasping, broken whimpers were any indication. His hand found her breast again, worshipped the fine skin, fingertips tracing the soft rise, the hard nipple, over and over again.

"Ohh - oh - oh, yes, _yes,_" she breathed, and the surprised awe in her voice was all the reward he needed as he watched her break apart under him, all of her spilling out for him to see, raw and exposed and so beautiful. He let go then, came inside her with his mouth open at her neck, more relief than release, the nervous flutters of his body followed at last by a blissful slackness.

It was a long while before he could put together a coherent thought.

Kate was soft, all glistening heat under him; he had to be crushing her. She didn't ask him to move, though, and he wasn't sure he could. So he just lay there for a moment, listening to the steady rhythm of her heartbeat, enjoying the way their bodies fit together; and no matter how hard he tried, there was no stopping the inane flow of gratitude that rushed through his veins.

* * *

When he moved-

Kate was roused from her delicious lethargy, eyes slowly blinking open as his weight shifted, lifted off her. She shivered when their skins parted, but he had already reached for the sheet, was draping it over her; it felt fresh and lovely against her body, a cocoon.

She smiled at him, curled on her side, her fingers fisting around the pillow as she studied him. He'd rested his head on his hand, leaning on his elbow, like he was purposefully avoiding a too-comfortable position that would make him fall asleep. His blue eyes looked so dark in the faint light, the angles of his face sharper, the line of his jaw, the daring slope of his nose.

He was decidedly handsome, but not the pretty-boy sort; he had more of a rugged, uncouth look, a look that appealed to her in a very primal way. He seemed very different from the friendly, smiling man on the dust-jacket of his books.

And she liked that.

"Kate," he said. The sound of his voice, low and raspy, sent a tingle of warmth to her insides.

She hummed in response.

"I can't stay here," he told her, a hint of apology to his tone.

She opened her eyes, hadn't realized they were closed in the first place, and held back a yawn. "Why not?"

"I gotta be home tomorrow when my daughter wakes up," he said softly. "Make her breakfast. I can't run the risk of falling asleep here."

"I do have an alarm, you know," she mocked gently, half-hearted because there was something so beautiful in the way his voice lifted, opened up, when he mentioned his daughter.

"Alarms don't work on me," he shrugged, unabashed, a smile playing at the corner of his mouth.

Mmm, she would have kissed him, if lifting up hadn't seemed like an insurmountable effort.

"How old is your daughter?" she asked, suddenly curious. She had sort of pictured him with a cute, five-year-old little thing, eyes just as blue as his, but maybe-

"Nine," he says proudly, something wistful in his eyes. "She'll turn ten in April. Not sure if I'm ready for it."

Wow. Nine.

Kate watched him in silence for a moment, felt the weight of his gaze back on her, the pull of that strange, unexpected connection, almost tangible in the darkness of her bedroom. She hardly knew him at all. And yet-

What would her mother have thought, if she could have seen Kate right now, with that man in her bed? A stranger but not quite, her favorite author, a man with talented hands and more questions that Beckett knew what to do with.

The thought was unsettling; she pushed it away, focused on the pleased hum of her body instead, on the heat in Castle's eyes.

He leaned in, the wide spread of his shoulders blocking her view, and brushed his lips to hers, a tentative caress that felt all the sweeter, almost incongruous after the passionate sex. Her heart pounded in her chest.

"I want to see you again," he murmured, a fan of warm breath against her mouth. So much confidence, so much certainty in that voice.

She closed her eyes, felt the answering want clog up in her throat, choke her. It was - she wished-

"I'm not really - in a good place right now," she whispered reluctantly, felt like she owed him the truth. "I live at the precinct, Castle. Have to do everything they ask from me and more, if I want to make detective. And I'm not..."

God, she didn't want to say these things. But he had to understand. "You can't trust me," she said, quiet, bitter. "I don't even trust myself."

Her words echoed between them as he studied her face, and she couldn't get a good read on him - she had no idea what he was thinking. But after a moment he slanted closer again, his mouth tender against her cheek, her eyes fluttering shut at the touch.

"I want to see you again, Kate."

It was a bad idea. It was a terrible idea. She was broken and haunted; if it hadn't been for this case, if she hadn't run into him tonight, she would have spent the evening mourning for her dead mother, for the voice and the touch of Johanna Beckett-

A terrible idea.

"Okay," she heard herself relent. "Give me your number, and I'll call you." Even in the dimness, the way his face brightened was absolutely breathtaking, made her chest squeeze.

"Promise?" he said playfully, victorious, adorable.

"Promise," she breathed, had to force the word out of her mouth.

But it wasn't a promise she was planning to keep.

* * *

He'd left his number on a piece of paper, a white square that glared at her from her coffee table. His first name in sloppy block letters, a smiley face at the end, a little tilted; so much energy, so much enthusiasm in just these few strokes of a pen.

She avoided it carefully, skirted the table to get at the kitchen, like the note carried some disease that she wanted to stay away from.

As far as she was concerned, it did.

She made herself coffee, ate a few slices of toast, then went back to her bedroom to get ready, her eyes averted. She was ridiculous; she knew it. But at least she was safe.

She would probably have been even safer if she could have thrown the damn thing away. But she just - she couldn't bring herself to do it.

She stared at it for a long minute, once she was dressed and ready to leave; but no. She couldn't. Beckett clicked her tongue in annoyance, then spun on her heels, made for the door. She'd worry about it tonight.

Right now, she had to get to the precinct before everyone else did, and show them all how hard she was ready to work at this, how good she was at her job.

Despite last night's mishap.

* * *

She spent the night at the precinct, huddled against the uncomfortable break room couch. Her day had been unremarkable: a paperwork-oriented morning, then the pick up of a suspect along with a detective and a few other uniforms, and finally a long stakeout of a house that was supposedly used for prostitution.

Except the house seemed very much empty, and no one had shown.

But that had meant five hours of fending back Marshall's advances - because of course, she'd been teamed up with stupid, well-meaning Marshall - and it had left Kate completely exhausted.

No way she was going take the subway back to her apartment now.

The couch would do. She would set her alarm, get up before anyone got here. It'd be fine.

Sleep came, wrapping its dark, soundless tentacles around her, and she let it take her.

* * *

"Beckett."

A sharp tug at her shoulder echoed the flat drop of her name, dragged her unwilling self away from sleep.

"Beckett. Up."

Fuck. She opened her eyes slowly, swallowed a moan at the pain that flared when she tried to rotate her neck. She'd been careful to arrange her body into the best position-

And then she saw who'd woken her up, had to grit her teeth at that. Damn it, the captain? _Really?_ It was still dark outside, not the early morning light she'd gotten used to, and she suddenly understood why she'd had some much trouble to wake up.

It was still night; she had gotten one, two hours' sleep, at best.

"Beckett, you need to go home."

The sympathy that shone under the layer of stern authority was like a punch in the gut. She focused on her breathing as she sat up, avoiding the too-gentle brown eyes. She knew people talked. Sometimes she wished Montgomery wouldn't be that nice to her.

"Yes, sir," she said.

She wouldn't make apologies. It was humiliating enough to have been found curled up on the break room couch.

She got up when she was sure her legs would carry her, moved to skirt Montgomery, but he stopped her with a hand over her shoulder. At least, from what she could see, the bull pen was completely empty.

"Beckett. A detective from Vice told me he'd seen you sleeping in here. Twice this week. Tonight makes it three times. Is there anything you want to talk about?"

She clenched her jaw. "No, sir."

"Are you sure? If you have problems at home, you know you can tell me."

"I'm fine, sir."

Only Rick Castle's number staring her in the face whenever she would get back, reminding her of her solitude, reminding her that she could have chosen a different life for herself.

Except she had no choice.

Captain Montgomery sighed, a deep, pained thing. "Go home, then, Officer Beckett. Take the day off tomorrow."

Her head swiveled back to him, her heart in her throat. "No. Sir, please."

He stared at her, too much understanding in his eyes, his lips pursed.

"Please," she murmured, couldn't help herself. If begging was what it took, she would beg - as long as he didn't ban her from the precinct, as long as she didn't have to spend the day contemplating the emptiness of her life.

"Fine," Montgomery relented, shaking his head at her. "Do what you want, Beckett. Show up if you must. But you better start using your time off soon."

"Yes, sir," she answered readily, a good little soldier, and he let go of her arm then, let her make her way to the elevator.

She didn't look back, but she could feel his eyes on hers, weighing on her shoulders. Great. Now she had the pity of her police captain.

Just _great._

* * *

She wrestled the key into her door, jerked it open with a shoulder and stumbled inside, her balance precarious in the darkness and her sleep-deprived state. She slammed the door shut, flipped the light on, groaning at the sudden brightness, _too much_ - she turned it off.

The moonlight bathed her kitchen, would surely be enough; she just had to let her eyes adjust.

She slowly undid the belt of her coat, let it slide off her shoulders. The couch was close and she swung the garment over the back of it, couldn't be bothered to hang it - not tonight.

Then she unzipped her boots, dropping down a few inches as she slid them off (she was getting a _lot_ better with the heels), and left them next to the couch. She took a step forward, and of course - _of course_ - her eyes had to fall onto the white rectangle of Rick Castle's note then, standing out brightly amidst the dark wood. Taunting her.

Oh, for Christ's sake.

Kate pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes, groaned, and made her unseeing way to her bedroom. Sleep. She needed sleep.

She needed to turn off her brain and _not_ do anything stupid.

She stumbled onto her bed and stayed sprawled there, fully clothed, couldn't bring herself to get up again and go to the bathroom.

Whatever. She'd sleep with her clothes, her make-up on; she didn't care. So long as she could have a few hours' respite from the memory of Castle's blue, twinkling eyes - she didn't give a damn.


	6. Chapter 6

The next day she left the precinct at a decent hour, only a little after five. It was all part of her new strategy: show them she was reasonable, show them she was healthy. She couldn't start investigating her mother's case on her own with so many eyes watching her.

But if she could put their mistrust, their wariness to sleep-

Then she would finally be able to take a closer look at that investigation, chase the leads that had been dropped, interview the witnesses herself. And this time she would be more subtle about it; she wouldn't let herself get caught in the archives late at night, like an idiot.

She would learn from her mistakes.

When she got home, her apartment was as quiet and lonely as ever, the pale light of the late afternoon sun sliding its long fingers through the kitchen's windows. Kate dropped her bag onto the small table she kept close to the door, shrugged off her coat on the way to her bedroom.

It was a relief to get out of her uniform, pull on a pair of jeans, a t-shirt, an old, shapeless sweater that she loved. She ran her fingers through her short hair, wondered if she should do something with it. It had a tendency to spike these days; she wasn't sure how she felt about that.

She could call her hairdresser, actually, make an appointment right now.

She was reaching for her phone when she realized: not only was it too late for the salon to be open still, but it was also Saturday. They'd be closed tomorrow.

Wow. Saturday. It had been a week since she'd brought Castle here-

_Not-uh, Kate Beckett. _She wasn't doing this.

She firmly steered her thoughts away, stopped in front of her bookshelf to pick a novel. She'd had no time to read over the past weeks, and she'd missed it. She hesitated, her eyes stopping on the spine of _Great Expectations. _She liked Dickens; he told a good story.

Why not?

She slid the book out and then went back to the living-room, plopping herself down onto her couch, shimmying until she was comfortable. She opened the volume on the first page, enjoying the feel of paper at her fingertips, and started reading.

But her heart wasn't in it. She made it through the first chapter, even started the second one, but her attention kept flickering back and forth; she continuously had to come back to a line she'd skipped, or she zoned out in the middle of a paragraph. She ultimately gave up, pulled her lower lip between her teeth as she sat straight, the book closed in her hand.

Rick Castle's number was still staring at her.

Kate wavered, tried to resist.

If she wanted company, she could probably call Lanie. It had been a while since she had last seen the ME outside of work. Her friend would probably be thrilled at the idea of a girls night.

But she didn't want just any company, did she?

She wanted to see him.

Crap.

Oh, what the hell? Meeting him for drinks wouldn't make any difference, wouldn't change what had already happened. She was not going to _marry the guy_, for god's sake. She was hardly in a place to be in a relationship at all, but maybe - maybe they could be friends.

She thought of the way he'd said, _I want to know things about you_, of the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled, honestly smiled - when he'd mentioned his daughter. Then she thought of his hands on her skin, his mouth-

Okay, well. Friends with benefits?

There was definitely more to him than the writer playboy that the papers sometimes made him out to be. She could tell. And if he'd spent several nights in that awful club, looking for inspiration? He had to be pretty damn lonely.

Kate let out a slow breath, made her decision. And reached for her phone before she could change her mind.

* * *

He was almost there, his stride quickening although he knew better, when his phone came to life in his pocket. Castle cursed under his breath and fished for the thing, annoyed now at the space cow-boy ringtone.

He'd have to change it.

The number flashing on the screen didn't belong to one of his contacts. Rick felt a burst of excitement in his chest, cleared his throat before he picked up. "Hello?"

There was a breath of silence, and then her voice, the voice he'd been waiting for all week. "Hi. It's, um, Kate."

"Kate! It's great to hear from you," he grinned, couldn't help himself. "I was starting to wonder if you'd lost my number or something." Ugh, _lost his number_, really? More like he'd been scared to death that she didn't want to see him.

"Ah, no," she said, a distinct tinge of embarrassment coloring her words. "I, uh... Busy week," she finished in a rush, and he wondered suddenly if she was blushing. She hadn't seemed the kind to blush, really, but how lovely she would look-

"But I've been thinking about you," she added, a sort of apology, it seemed. Rick smiled to himself. She had?

He hadn't been able to get her out of his mind either. "Yeah? Me too, Kate," he said softly, and he thought he could hear a sharp intake of breath on her side. "So, you...want to meet up? Get drinks, or dinner?"

_Seeing as I'm already in front of your building. _Not going to say that, though; he'd rather keep her from knowing how creepy he could get. As long as he could.

She hesitated. "Uh, yeah. Yeah, sure - drinks would be nice."

"Awesome," he said cheerfully, making a note to himself - dinner was a little too much. "I know a couple bars that make really great cocktails, unless there's a place you'd rather go to...?"

She snorted. "I don't think cop bars are exactly appropriate for-" she paused, like she was catching herself, and finished, "a drink with friends."

She'd almost said _a date_; he was sure of it.

"I don't know," he teased. "Cop bar sounds pretty exciting to me-"

"Castle."

Funny, how he liked the sound of his last name in her mouth. "Okay, okay. Can I come pick you up?"

There was a beat of silence. Was she surprised he'd ask?

"Yeah, I guess," she answered easily after a handful of seconds. "How soon can you get here?"

Oh, trick question. "Ah, pretty soon? Like...fifteen minutes?"

"Oh, that's great," she said, her voice neutral. "Are you at your place?"

What? Why- "Ahhh," he stalled, caught off guard. "Uh." Damn it, he sounded like a _moron-_ "No! No. I was...out. Shopping."

Great, Rick. _Shiny._

Now she'd think he was a metrosexual.

There was a definite measure of amusement in her voice when she spoke. "Did you buy anything?"

He looked down at his hand, as if he expected to see a plastic bag hanging there, result of his non-existent shopping trip. "No, actually. I didn't find what I was looking for."

She hummed. "And what exactly _were _you looking for? Seems to me that the only shop in the street you're in is a newspapers stand."

The street he was-

_Shit._

He lifted his head, eyes roaming over the building's windows, until he found her face smirking at him, three stories above. Well, that explained the series of weird questions. "Oh, I see. Very funny, Kate. Very funny."

"I thought so too," she replied, that smug little note to her voice. "How long have you been out here?"

Ohh, she thought he was that pathetic, uh? But she was still talking to him.

"Not that long!" he defended himself. "I was just getting there when you called."

"Sure," she said, stretching the vowel.

Castle closed his eyes, rubbed a hand across his face, then remembered that she could see him. There was no point in trying to salvage any of his ego, was there?

When he looked up to the window again, though, she was gone. His heart missed a beat.

Time to get offensive. "So. What about that drink?"

She laughed, the sound rich, beautiful in his ear. "You're nothing if not persistent."

"Uh-huh. That's me. Persistent. Can you think of a more attractive quality in a man?"

She laughed (again!) and said, "Well, now that you mention it..."

"You don't have to answer that," he hastily interjected, wondering again how his usually smooth game could completely desert him whenever Kate Beckett was involved. Okay, um... _Try being nice, Rick. _"You know, actually, if you're - too tired - I would understand..."

"Too late to be a gentleman now, Castle," a voice said behind him, and he spun around to find her standing there, in jeans and a winter coat that opened on a blue sweater, her hair adorably spiky around her face.

He'd never seen her without the nightclub getup, the sexy clothes and the heavy make-up, and he took a good long look as he slid his phone shut, put it back in his pocket.

"Hope you're not too disappointed," she said, an eyebrow arched. "I do like to save my leather clothes for special occasions."

His jaw dropped - _leather_? Her dress last time had been...? - and he fumbled desperately for an answer until she cracked a smile, playfully pushed her shoulder against his.

"Kidding, Castle. Jeez, you're easy."

She was - she was-

"So, that bar of yours. How far is it?"

He just couldn't stop staring. And apparently, he had lost the ability to multitask.

Kate sighed, snapped her fingers in front of his face. "Earth to Castle. The speechlessness was cute for the first thirty seconds; now it's getting creepy."

"Right," he said, finally sliding out of it. "Sorry. Bar. We should take a cab, actually, cause I think it's going to rain. And the place isn't exactly close."

"Hope you're not planning on kidnapping me," she dropped, very matter-of-fact.

"What?" he gasped. "Me, kidnap you? You mistake me, Kate. Only murder satisfies my darkest aspirations."

"Oh, as long as it's murder, then. I have a friend at the morgue who will find your fingerprints on my body and have you arrested in about five seconds."

"Like I'd be stupid enough to leave my fingerprints - wait, a friend at the morgue? Wow. That's cool. That's way cool. You get to see lots of dead bodies, right?"

She tilted her head at him, giving him a _really _kind of look that he found pretty hot. Then she put two fingers in her mouth and whistled, loud enough to get the nearest cab to stop right in front of them.

That was hot too.

Oh, he was in trouble.

He was in deep, deep, _deep_ trouble.

Even Sophia Turner wasn't half as exciting as _she_ was.

* * *

Kate liked the bar.

Her father's history had made her somewhat wary of places like this, where you could drink your way to oblivion without anyone even noticing, but she liked the smell of wood, the not-quite-unpleasant way it mixed with stale beer, the open space that surrounded the bar, the booths that lined the walls.

The place had history to it. As Castle had been telling for the last...five minutes now?

She smiled to herself, then turned to him and reached out, pressing her fingertips to his mouth, stopping the writer in the middle of a Prohibition story that didn't seem to have an end.

"Think I've had enough of the history lesson," she told him playfully, an eyebrow raised, and the surprise in his blue eyes turned to amusement.

"Right," he said when she removed her hand. "I do tend to get a little...carried away when I visit places like this."

"Only a little?" she volleyed back, smirking.

He looked like he wanted to stick his tongue out at her. "Hey now. You could also show a little more understanding. I haven't set foot in The Old Haunt in a considerable amount of time, and I have a right to feel a little...emotion, at being reunited with an old friend-"

"It _is _touching, Castle," she said, placing a hand over her heart, fluttering her lashes at him. "In fact, I think that I might cry-"

He smiled, looking smug and surprised, until she added, "-if you don't buy me a drink in the next thirty seconds."

The way his face fell - it was the most fun she'd had in the whole week.

God, when had her life become a long, dreary road where she never laughed? Mike had made her laugh; Mike had been the one who could make her smile even after she'd had to pick up her drunken father from some sleazy bar.

But where was Mike now?

"Hey, you okay?"

Castle was peering at her with entirely too much concern, and she put herself back together, found a smile for him. "Sure, yeah. My, uh, throat's a little dry, is all."

He narrowed his eyes at her, then linked their arms - _what did he do that for?_ - and pulled her towards the bar. The bartender was young, and pretty cute; he flashed Kate a smile that she answered without thinking.

Castle cleared his throat. The guy behind the bar immediately lost the flirty attitude, and Beckett glanced at the writer, halfway between annoyed and amused. He didn't look at her, didn't lay a claiming hand on her or anything, and she decided to let it go.

"What can I get you, sir?"

"I'd like a... What kinds of Scotch do you have?" Castle asked, his eyes studying the display behind the counter.

Kate pressed her lips together, sucked in a long breath, tried to forget that Scotch was her father's favorite way to inebriation. It didn't matter. Her dad was sober, _sober-_

Maybe drinks wasn't the best idea after all.

"Kate, what do you want?"

"Oh, uh. Just - a beer, please."

"Any kind of beer?" the bartender echoed, sounding surprised. "Because I've got a couple really good ones, if you like dark beer - there's the-"

"Just. Lager. Lager'll be fine, thanks," Beckett cut him sharply, wanted to hit herself at how unsubtle she was being.

Castle's face was turned to her now, his brow knitted, and he said, "Are you okay?"

"How many times do you plan on asking me that?" she shot back, and he lifted his hands as if in surrender, turned away from her.

"O-kay," she heard him mutter as he set an elbow on the wooden counter.

Damn, she was ruining this already. She shouldn't have called him. Kate pinched the bridge of her nose between two fingers, attempted to quell the stupid emotion that rose inside her.

Stupid, she was being stupid-

"Hey, why don't you go get us a booth?" Castle suggested, and the easy, friendly tone in his voice made her eyes snap open in surprise.

He was smiling at her.

"I'll bring the drinks as soon as they're ready. You choose where you want to sit. Plenty of space," he added, nodding at the room.

So. Obviously, nothing could throw the man.

Kate felt her mouth curl up into a small smile. "Okay," she agreed simply, and moved to the back of the room. She didn't care where they sat, really, but this way she had something to do. Something she was responsible for.

It gave her back the sense of control that always slipped through her fingers whenever she started thinking of her father's addiction. Former addiction.

Was Castle really that good at reading people, or did he just have good instincts?

She picked a table in a quiet corner, let her eyes linger on the photographs that hung on the wall. Some people she knew, some were complete strangers - well, okay, most of them were complete strangers.

Maybe they'd been famous in their own time?

"And - here you go," the writer said, setting her glass in front of her and sliding in the opposite side of the booth. He was cradling a whiskey glass in his large palm, and she was relieved to see how little there was of the amber liquid.

She, on the other hand, should probably have asked for a half-pint.

"Thanks," she said, wrapping her fingers around the glass. It wasn't like she _had _to drink it all, right?

There was a silence, and for some reason she kept her eyes averted, couldn't make herself look up at him.

"Kate," he said softly, his voice gentle. "You've made it clear that you don't want me asking if you're okay, so I'll just say this - if you don't like this place, we can go somewhere else. I don't care. I don't want you to be uncomfortable..."

"It's not the place," she admitted reluctantly, didn't know what else to do in the face of his eagerness. "It's - I'm fine, Castle. Really."

"You looked like you were going to bite the poor guy's head off," he opposed, eyebrows raised.

She sighed, gritted her teeth, risked a look at his blue eyes. Curiosity, interest made them bright, even in the half-light of the booth.

"Or maybe it had something to do with me ordering the Scotch?" he pushed, his speculation so damn close to the truth. "What is it, Kate? You had a terrible experience with Scotch, spent the night throwing up in a friend's toilets?"

He thought this was funny.

What the hell was she supposed to say? _Actually, Castle, my dad is a recovering alcoholic-_

No, no. She'd shared enough.

Her face must have betrayed some of the seriousness, some of the heartbreak that always came with thinking of her father, because the writer reached for her hand; she drew it back, couldn't handle touching now.

"Why are you doing this?" she asked suddenly, meeting his eyes.

She couldn't understand it. Him.

"Why am I doing...what?" he replied carefully, looking as lost as she felt.

"This. Being - here. With me. I don't-" she shook her head, because it didn't make sense, none of it made sense. He was a somewhat famous, loaded writer, he could have any woman he wanted, and instead he was here with her, trying to - to what?

"Ah, I... I thought that was clear," he answered slowly, watching her like she was some bomb about to explode. "Kate. I've said this before. I like you. I just - wanna get to know you better-"

"Why?"

He stared at her, mouth open, bewildered. But he had to understand.

"Listen, Castle. I'm twenty-four. My father is a recovering alcoholic; my mother was murdered. I became a cop because I need - _I need_ - to solve her case, to catch the son of a bitch who did this, and I'm not-" she let out a breath "-I'm not someone you wanna get to know. Trust me. You'd better stay the hell away."

She grabbed the coat she'd taken off, stood up, and she marched out of the bar without looking back. She was grateful he didn't come after her.

If he had, she wasn't sure she could have hidden her tears.

* * *

She walked all the way back to her apartment.

It was a long, long walk, and it was freezing outside. But she was a quick walker, and the cold night air helped clear her head, allowed her to see things for what they were.

She'd been stupid. This thing with Castle, whatever it was - it had to stop now.

Before she could fall for him. Before she started liking him in earnest, and then he discovered that she was too complicated, or too obsessed, or too damaged for him. There was no place for a man in her life.

There was only room for justice.

Justice for her mother, justice for Kate and her dad-

Nothing else mattered.

She should have thrown his phone number away that night.

When she finally reached her building, she didn't feel the cold anymore. Her whole body was numb; and she liked it that way.

She stopped for the mail - a flyer for a new restaurant, her bank account statement - and then started the climb to the third floor. The lightbulb on the landing was blown, she noticed as she moved past it, getting her key out of her pocket. She'd have to notify someone, but she wasn't sure who-

Kate froze. There was someone waiting at her door.

Not just someone.

Rick Castle.

God, did he _never _give up?

He took a few steps towards her, clearly hesitant, but he gave her a strained smile as he held something up for her to see.

A bottle.

"So, I guess, with your father's history and all that," he started bravely, "you might not, want to drink alcohol. And I found this," he waved the bottle at her, "in a store I stopped at on my way here. It's a, non-alcoholic cocktail, it says, and you can - look at the ingredients - it sounded pretty good to me, I mean, there's passion fruit, and," he drew the thing closer so he could read from the label, "_lime, pineapple,_ and oh, guava! Guava is pretty tasty, I think. Goes well with all the other fruit. I mean, if you like guava, obviously, because if you don't, then it's not..." he took a great gulp of air, looked at her with something like despair. "Yeah," he finished in a whisper.

The corridor felt awfully empty without the lilt, the energy of his voice.

Kate stood there, mail in one hand, key in another, completely still.

She didn't know how to react to this. She wasn't trained - nothing had prepared for the anxious hope that shone in his eyes, the trouble he'd gone through, the determination in the line of his mouth.

For a moment it hung between them, everything suspended, up in the air, her breath caught in her chest as her defenses crumbled.

And then she was in Castle's arms, her mouth ruthless, desperate against his, a hand hooked around his neck as she forced her tongue in, biting on his lip, punishing him for what he'd reduced her to.

His arm wrapped around her waist, tight enough to bruise, and she had to close her eyes against the tears that wanted out, the weight of it in her chest, too much, she didn't know-

"Kate," he murmured against her mouth, and his voice was what did it, put the pieces of her together, let the air back into her lungs.

She kissed him again, brutal and careless, didn't quite land on his mouth; then she turned to the door. "Inside," she told him, and her voice was so raw with her need that she couldn't even hide it from herself.


	7. Chapter 7

They didn't even reach the couch; she had him pinned to the door the moment they walked in, her slender hips pressed into his, her body a snare he never wanted to escape. His grip on the non-alcoholic cocktail loosened, and the bottle landed on the floor with a heavy thud, rolled away.

Not that he cared.

Her hands worked at his coat as her mouth plundered his, a flurry of teeth and tongue that left his mind spinning, his body arching off the door in a mindless attempt to just _have _her.

She moaned into his lips, kept making those needy gasps that traveled straight to his singing blood. When she finally got the coat off him he spun them around, took the chance to pull the sweater over her head before he pressed her into the dark wood. The t-shirt she wore underneath was a tight fit, a soft material that clung to her skin, made it impossible to ignore the lovely curves of her heaving chest.

He could even see a faint impression of her bra, lace, looked like, and he bowed his head to her neck in adoration, lavished his tongue on that soft, naked skin, traced the line of her beating vein.

He slid a thigh between hers, seeking the heat that radiated even through the rough fabric of her jeans, and he grunted when she rocked over it, once, twice, sinful sounds falling from her open mouth.

"Yes, yes," she panted, and she slammed into him, harder, eyes shut tight. The sweep of those dark lashes against her flushed skin-

"Kate," he murmured, taken aback by her intensity.

He had wanted her naked, had wanted to feel her come apart around him, but the way she rode his leg, fierce and with such beautiful abandon-

He tried to reach for her top still, fingers splaying at the warm, supple skin of her sides, his index fiddling with the button of her jeans - _make it good for her_ - but she knocked his hand off when she fisted hers on his shirt, a tight, desperate grip.

"No time," she breathed into his neck, almost sobbing, "can't wait, _Castle_-"

So he forgot about it, about anything that wasn't her, and he found her mouth again as she moved, hips pressing against his in shallow, sharp little jerks that made him catch fire.

He bypassed her t-shirt, her bra, his thumb finding the taut peak of a breast; she bit on his lip when he teased it slowly, her teeth clamping down on the tender flesh, the burn of pain delicious over the thick haze of pleasure.

Shit, she was so goddamn hot - she was going him to take him down with her, make him come with all his clothes on like a freaking teenager-

Her body tensed then, stiffened against his, a hard, unforgiving line until she finally bowed, gave in. Her strangled cries and whimpers crashed at the hollow of his throat as her hips rolled, endless, riding wave after wave of release; and Castle broke too, couldn't resist the way she trembled and melted into him, gave him everything.

Kate Beckett didn't do things halfway.

* * *

When she opened her eyes again, boneless, her head tilted back against the door, she was surprised to realize that they were still upright. Standing.

Castle had more endurance than she'd thought.

He too had sagged against the merciful relief of the door, his forearms aligned with the dark wood, his head turned into her neck; but he was still supporting both of them, holding her up with his leg.

She nudged his temple with her nose, gentle, and when he looked up at her - his eyes so dark still - she slid her lips over his, light strokes, not so much kissing as aligning the wide, open caves of their mouths.

They stayed like this for a moment, breathing in and out together, tongues occasionally touching, tasting. Then she felt the ripple of muscle as he gathered himself, carefully pushed off the door, as if he didn't quite trust his legs to carry him.

Kate let out a single note of laughter, but it turned into a gasp when he removed the prop of his thigh and she felt her own knees give. He caught her, his hands strong at her elbows and a grin at her ear, as merciless as she'd been.

"Got some trouble standing up?" he murmured, so smug, the husky notes of his voice rippling over her skin.

"Not at all," she shot back, arching a challenging eyebrow to make up for her breathlessness. "But you seemed to enjoy making a display of your manliness, so-"

"You decided to humor me a little longer?"

His smile made her mouth go dry. "Exactly," she dropped with a shrug.

"How considerate of you," he observed, his grin widening. "I'm touched. So if I tried to, say, carry you to your bedroom right now..."

"I might allow it," Kate answered after a falsely thoughtful pause. "Just this once, you know. Because you're obviously feeling so insecure."

"That's very generous," Castle said, his attempt at seriousness belied by the laughing blue of his eyes. "Much appreciated."

And before she could say anything else, he swept her off her feet, an arm hooked at the back of her knees, the other cradling her to his chest. As if she weighed no more than a child.

Kate bit her lip, off-balanced by the lack of control; she wrestled with the urge of telling him _let go._ She could do this; her bedroom was only a few steps away.

"We need to do something about these clothes," Castle said teasingly, wriggling his fingers at her knees and effectively distracting her.

"What's wrong with my clothes?" she said defensively. If he said she needed to dress more feminine-

"They're on," he answered with a wolfish look.

She pressed her mouth together, but it wasn't enough to keep her amused snort in check. "Well, whose fault is that," she deadpanned.

"Oh, I'm well aware, Kate Beckett," he said with a lascivious curl of his lips as they came into her bedroom. "And believe me, I intend to remedy that unfortunate turn of events. Immediately," he added as he deposited her onto the covers, wiggling an eyebrow.

Kate dropped onto her elbows, watched him in the semi-dark, the slow movements of his arms as he removed her sneakers, her socks, traced the arch of her foot with a finger.

She shivered, hid it behind a daring smirk.

"Show me what you got, Castle."

* * *

He'd fallen asleep in her bed. His daughter was spending the weekend with her mom, he'd explained sleepily when she had hesitantly asked; so he didn't have to be at his place in the morning.

Kate wasn't sure how she felt about that.

Well. At least he didn't snore.

She let out a long sigh and turned her back to him, curling up on her side, snuggling a hand under her pillow as she adjusted. But it didn't seem to make a difference. Even when she couldn't see him, his deep, even breathing echoed against the ceiling, took up all the space; awake or asleep, there was just no ignoring the man.

She swallowed, sunk her teeth into her lower lip.

She wasn't going to cry. She wasn't going to cry. It was just sex. _Just sex, Beckett._

Despite herself, she rolled her neck to glance back at him, the sleep-slack face that looked so young, the ruffled hair that seemed darker against the white pillow. His large hand fisted around the sheet, the bulge of his bicep, the vulnerable line of his mouth-

It wasn't just sex.

Fuck.

Beckett closed her eyes, pressed a palm to her face.

What the hell was she doing?

He was a nice man, a _good _man, for all she'd seen, and she was... She was not ready for this. And if she kept letting him think that she was, if she kept falling into bed with him at the first chance she got, one of them was going to get hurt.

_He _was going to get hurt.

But _damn it_, couldn't he just listen to her? Couldn't he have turned away at the bar, like she'd told him to? She apparently had no self-control whatsoever where he was concerned, and his stubbornness was cute, sure it was, but it was also freaking annoying.

Kate rolled onto her back, eyes open at the ceiling, and forced her body to relax. Deep breaths.

How long had it been since the last time she'd had a man in her bed? She couldn't even be sure. Her apartment was her space, her own private world; she wasn't in the habit of letting strangers in. Bringing Castle here that first night had been a spur of the moment thing, rather uncharacteristic of her, actually.

Oh yeah, because it wasn't just any man in her bed, was it?

It was-

Richard Castle.

She felt her lips curl up with the laughter that bubbled inside her, had to press a hand to her mouth to contain it.

Richard Castle was in her bed. _Rick Castle._

It was crazy.

She couldn't resist: she let her mirth spill out, careful to keep it silent. Her body trembled, rippling with it until her eyes watered, until she was out of breath - god, it felt good.

Kare relaxed at last, her muscles unfurling, the lines of her sinking into the depth of the mattress, and she let her eyelids slid closed with a sigh.

Fell asleep.

* * *

Sound.

Shrill, loud, maddening sound. Ugh. An alarm.

Castle groaned and buried his head deeper into the pillow, his body curling up in protest at the aggression. Early. It was way, way too early-

The strident beep stopped, much to his relief, but he felt the mattress dip, heard the ruffle of sheets at his back. Hmm. What-

No. He didn't care. Sleep. Sleep was what he needed.

He easily slipped back into a drowse, his consciousness flickering in and out at the sounds of drawers being open and shut, water running, doors closing; he didn't completely rouse until a moment later. And, strangely enough, it was the silence that did it this time.

Rick cautiously slid an eye open, encouraged by the ambient dimness, the very faint light that made it past the blinds. He blinked a few times, letting his vision adjust as he stretched, then rubbed a hand over his face.

Oh. Kate was there.

Leaning against the wall, watching him. All her clothes on.

He made a pitiful, childish sound. "'S too early," he slurred, held out a hand towards her. "Kate. Come back to bed."

"I can't," she answered, amusement filtering in her voice, her beautiful, too-awake voice. "Have to go to work."

He sighed, ran his tongue over his dry lips. "On a Sunday?"

"Criminals don't stop, even when you ask them nicely."

He blurted a laugh at that, liked the way she made him feel, warm and tingling in her bed. "Take the day off," he suggested, pressing his mouth together in the best pout he could produce.

He thought he could see her startle, the slightest lift to her shoulders, but it was over before he could be sure. "No," she said firmly.

Oh.

Well. That was that.

His disappointment was so overwhelming, so very real that he had to roll onto his back, take a deep breath to wrestle it down.

Ridiculous.

"You can stay here and sleep," she offered, her tone more conciliating. "It's only six thirty-" he had to hold back a moan at that "- I didn't mean to wake you. Just - slam the door shut when you leave, okay?"

Hm. She was leaving him alone at her apartment?

"You not afraid I'll steal your stuff?"

She gave him a tight-lipped smile that was absolutely adorable. "Seeing as your bank account is probably ten times the size of mine, I'm not too scared, no. Don't go snooping in my underwear drawer though."

"Stop giving me ideas."

She made a funny sound he wasn't sure how to interpret, then watched him for a long time, her eyes guarded, serious. He waited her out.

"My objections still stand, Castle," she said quietly, warning in her words.

"And...so does your door. Which is pretty impressive, given what we did to it last night."

She rolled her eyes at him, but he thought there was maybe the beginning of a blush at her collarbone. "Castle."

"Why do you call me that?" he asked, suddenly curious. "I have a first name. Most-" _women_, he thought, caught himself just in time, "people call me Rick, you know."

She opened her mouth, hesitated - surprised by the question, it seemed. "Just a work thing," she shrugged. "At the precinct everyone gets called by their surname. Wouldn't even occur to me to do otherwise."

"But I'm not a cop," he objected. "I don't work with you."

A longer hesitation. He studied her as she wavered, then pushed herself off the wall, squatted down in front of him. The smile at the corner of her mouth made up for the spark of doubt in her eyes.

"Doesn't feel right to call my favorite author by his first name," she murmured, her breath hot against his cheek, and then she was standing up again, reaching for her coat, moving away.

Her words didn't register until she was out of sight.

_Favorite author_? She was kidding him, right?

"Kate?"

She had to be kidding.

"Kate, come back!"

But his only answer was the sound of the front door sliding shut, and he sat up in bed, breathless, would never go back to sleep now.

Her favorite author?

* * *

The bullpen was quiet, less activity than normal. It was always the same on Sundays, because you couldn't get warrants through, so people who weren't on duty and didn't have an active case tended to use their PTO then. Especially those with families.

_Take the day off_, Castle's voice pleaded in her ears, but Beckett shook her head, couldn't let it get to her.

Even if her captain had said the same thing, not two days ago.

They didn't understand. No one could.

Although Mike-

She put out the spark of sorrow in her heart before it could light a fire, resolutely pushing it away. There was no point in doing this. He had retired; he wasn't coming back.

"Hey, Beckett."

She turned her head, saw Johnson with another cop - a guy she'd met once, whose name was...Graham? Yeah, that was it. Graham had wide blue eyes that were by far his nicest feature.

"Hey," she said.

"We got a witness to interview, and we might have an arrest to make, depending on how well that goes. You wanna tag along? Might need a few extra bodies."

She cast an assessing glance over the bullpen. There didn't seem to be any other big case she could be asked on, and Osborne hadn't spoken a word to her in the two hours she'd been here. She wasn't exactly eager to stay if it was to fill in paperwork.

"Sure," she shrugged, grabbed her jacket. "I'm in."

* * *

He didn't go back to sleep, but he didn't leave either.

He took his time in Kate's apartment, looked around, lingered in front of the jewel box with the picture - her parents, surely. They looked happy, the woman radiant, and Rick traced her face with a finger, looking for features she shared with Kate. The sharp line of the cheekbones, maybe, the shape of the eyes...

_Don't snoop, _Kate had said.

Clearly she had no idea who she was talking to.

He used her shower, her soap, smelled her on the bath towel he dried himself with. A light, sweet, flowery scent that felt almost too girlish for her. He remembered the way she'd drawn her weapon back at the club, and threatened her suspect - her perfume should have been something dark, dangerous. Forbidden.

Something red, some wild flower or... oh, oh, cherries! Wild cherries. Mmm.

He got dressed, decided to go commando because there was truly no way he'd wear these boxers again. He could put on new ones when he reached his place, anyway. He ran his hands through his wet hair, vaguely attempting to shape it, then left the bathroom.

There was a bookshelf in the corridor, facing her bedroom. He paused to peruse it, and his eyes quickly found what he was looking for: the _Storm _series - well, the three books he'd written so far - including the last one, _A Calm Before Storm. _Ugh. He still couldn't believe he'd let Gina sweet-talk him into agreeing to that title.

He reached for the novel, curious to see if Kate had been to one of his signings. He hoped not, hoped he would have remembered those soulful, changing eyes, but he saw so many people-

No autograph though, not in this one or any of the others. He resumed his search, found _A Rose For Everafter_ - unsigned as well. The rest of the books weren't his.

Well, for someone who claimed he was her favorite author-

Excitement bubbled in his veins at the thought, and he couldn't quell it. Maybe she just kept his other novels somewhere else?

Heading for the kitchen, he found a pot of lukewarm coffee, poured himself a cup that he put in the microwave. He inspected one of her shelves as he waited, was surprised to find a few art books, a volume about criminal law. Had she meant to be a lawyer before she'd had her life turned around?

There was a cookbook with a few recipes marked, including one with Nutella that sounded absolutely scrumptious; but no novels.

The microwave dinged and he went to get his cup, burned his tongue on the hot liquid as he walked to the bookshelf near the door. That one was larger, made of a rich, dark wood that wore the marks of a frequent use, little dents and scratches that you'd only notice if you paid attention.

He didn't even have to look: his books sat on the middle shelf, friendly presences that he could almost feel winking at him in encouragement. And they were all there, _Death Of A Prom Queen, In A Hail Of Bullets,_ even _Hell Hath No Fury_, which honestly he had no desire to read ever again.

Wait. He squatted down, eyes roaming over the lower shelves, but no - he couldn't find _Flowers For Your Grave. _Uh. Weird. Rick actually kinda liked that one.

Eh. Maybe she'd lent it to someone. He wondered if any of those were signed, but when he thought about it - almost all of them had been written before he'd turned thirty, and that meant Kate had been...in her late teens.

He winced. If he'd met a sixteen-year-old Kate, he wasn't sure he wanted to know. He felt enough like a cradle-robber already.

Rick unfolded his legs and stood up, stretching his back, studying her place. He really liked it, the space, the light that poured in through the windows above the kitchen, even though the day was not actually sunny. The melange of different styles.

She'd made it a home. And it had a lot of personality to it, surprising for someone so young. But there was nothing ordinary about her, was there?

His phone rang in the bedroom, distracting him from his thoughts, and he went to get it.

_Meredith_, the caller ID flashed at him. Rick took a deep breath, picked up.

"Richard, hi! I hope I'm not interrupting anything." He opened his mouth to answer, but she didn't leave him any time to. "Alexis and I are having the most _wonderful_ time! We went to the restaurant last night, then a very private party I was invited to - wasn't it the best, sweetie?"

He vaguely heard Alexis's assent in the background, didn't get the feeling that his daughter was especially thrilled. Of course, 'a very private party' wasn't necessarily the best place to take a nine-year-old.

"And this morning we went for a delicious brunch - not in Paris, see, I can learn - and we were going to go shopping, but... I just got a call from my agent, Richard, and there's an audition for a really big part this afternoon, something huge that Mal isn't even supposed to know about. So, if you could maybe come and get Alexis a little early? It would really be such a _tremendous _help, darling-"

He had heard enough. "Sure," he answered, gritting his teeth. "I can pick up Alexis. What time do you need me to be there?"

"Oh, um...As soon as you can? See, the audition isn't in New York, and it might take a while to get there-"

The writer checked his watch - _eleven_ - and swallowed a comment about Meredith trying to get rid of her daughter when she'd not even had her for a whole day. "Fine. I'm leaving right now. You're at the Regency Hotel?"

"Um, I think so? Yes, right, that's it. I keep confusing their names, but I should know the Regency is the one with the cute receptionist, oh Richard, you should see him-"

"Okay," he cut her hastily, having reached his limit. There was only so much he could take from her. "I gotta go, Meredith. Call you when I get there."

He didn't even listen to her words of goodbye, just ended the call and buried the phone in his pocket.

_Not in Paris._ He couldn't even believe she would joke about that. She was-

But he knew that, didn't he? He knew she was irresponsible and extravagant, knew she couldn't be trusted. There had been a time, long ago, when he'd liked that about her, and he could still enjoy it occasionally. But he hadn't forgiven her for taking his daughter to Paris.

Not even the crazy hot sex made up for the anxious hours he'd spent not knowing where his child was.

Castle grabbed his jacket from Kate's room and cast a quick look around, remembering the way Kate had looked before she'd left, that almost smile on her lips, the low tones of her voice. But not even that memory could keep his heart from sinking in his chest.

Alexis had been excited to spend the weekend with her mom, excited in that shy way of hers, the secret smile, the bright eyes, and he was going to be the one to comfort her now, the one to make up excuses for Meredith's erratic behavior.

Excuses that would do no good, anyway, because there was much more knowledge and understanding in his nine-year-old kid than there ever would be in her mother.

Funny, how life was.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: **I'm going on vacation in the south of France next week (yay!) but the downside of that is, I won't have the Internet, so I can't guarantee the chapters will get posted at the usual pace. I'll do my best, and there probably are Internet cafés and stuff, so hopefully it'll work out. See you all soon! And thank you for all the wonderful reviews. :)

* * *

The suspect was going to run. She could see it in his eyes, shifty, hunted eyes that wouldn't fixate on any of the police officers, even though Johnson was talking to him.

They had caught the man as he was coming home, surrounding him before he could get the door of his building open, two on each side.

He was trapped. But he was still going to make a run for it. Three-

"Mr. Michaels, we just want you to come back to the precinct with us. We just wanna talk, okay? Have a reasonable conversation, between reasonable people. There's no charge against you-"

Two-

"If you come with us willingly-"

One.

Michaels dived, head first, into Officer Jones, who was standing next to Kate. Jones stumbled back, unbalanced just long enough to create an opening for their suspect; but Beckett was already on the move.

In a few quick strides she had her fist around Michaels's jacket, her grip tight enough that she could yank on the fabric, pull him back towards her. She caught his wrist, twisted it at his back, and pushed him against the façade of his building. He hadn't made it far.

"Cal Michaels, you're under arrest," she said, barely a hitch in her breath. She reached for her handcuffs, closed them over the man's wrists. "You have the right to remain silent. Anything you might say can be used against you in court."

She handed him over to Detective Johnson, who placed a wide hand over the suspect's shoulder. "Shouldn't have run, buddy," Johnson said in his mild, friendly voice. "Nice job, Beckett," he added without looking at her. "You run pretty quick in those heels."

There was a hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth. Kate nodded, careful not to let her satisfaction show, and kept a neutral silence.

But if she'd had to guess - she would have said that people at the precinct had been criticizing her footwear behind her back, and Johnson wasn't exactly unhappy to see her prove them wrong.

* * *

The bathtub held just the right amount of water. Kate reached for the faucet and turned it off, dipped a hand under the surface to assess the temperature.

Yep. Perfect.

She undid the button and zipper, wriggled her way out of her jeans, chafing her cold skin on the way. It was freezing outside; the short walk from the subway station to her place had been enough for the biting wind to soak her through, seep down to her bones.

She removed layer after layer, socks, sweater, long-sleeved shirt. Once she stood in her underwear - the black lace bra she'd picked with a glance at Castle this morning - she went back to her room for the book in her bedside table, cradled it to her chest as her toes curled against the cold floor.

She lay the book where she could get it, checked she had everything - wine, phone, a towel for when she wanted to get out. The candles were all flickering gaily, casting soft shadows on the walls, and Kate closed her eyes, breathed in the relaxing floral scent.

Oh, she loved nights like these.

She sunk a foot into the water, sole prickling with the heat, and grit her teeth as she slowly lowered the rest of her leg into the tub. Okay, maybe next time it didn't have to be - ow, _ow_ - quite so hot.

She held her breath until her body had adjusted, started to warm up from the inside, and then she rested her back against the tub, let her head fall back with a sigh.

If she could just fall asleep and never wake up-

Whoa, okay, that was a morbid thought. She had had a good day, right? She'd woken up feeling pretty good, woken up to the large frame of Rick Castle in her bed, the soft sounds he made as he slept. (jeez, Rick Castle - it still sounded so ridiculous.)

And the precinct had been good too; she'd gotten to _do _things, had actually been useful, and even better, she'd felt valued, appreciated for it. _A good day._

A good day. What the hell was wrong with her?

She shook her head at herself, reached for the book, tracing the title with her fingertips. _Flowers For Your Grave._ How appropriate, right? She opened it, turning the pages slowly, slowly, until she found the bold, hasty curves of his handwriting.

_To Johanna_

_Because justice and truth should always work hand in hand._

_Best,_

_Rick C.  
_

She'd tried to imagine it so many times, the conversation that might have led to that line, how Castle had maybe asked about her mom's job, how he'd made a parallel with his own book.

If she asked him he probably wouldn't remember.

It had been five years. Even longer, actually, because the date under his name read: 09/18/98.

September. Kate had been in college then, otherwise she might have gone to the signing with her mom, might have gotten a glimpse of the handsome young writer - he would have been, what, twenty-nine, thirty?

She smiled. He probably would've looked old to her. Attractive, for sure - oh yeah, there was no way she'd have remained indifferent to those warm blue eyes - but not a man she'd have ever stood a chance with.

But she'd been in Stanford at the time. Miles and miles away. And she didn't even remember her mom telling her she'd been to the signing, although Johanna probably had. They talked on the phone a lot, even then, when Kate's life had been so busy and exciting.

The first tear splashed onto the page before Beckett had even realized it was there.

She put her hand to her cheek, angrily wiped the moisture she found, but the tears kept coming, hard and fast - _the more the merrier_ - and it was a lost fight.

Kate dropped the book back onto the floor, gathered her knees to her chest, and rested her forehead to them as the sobs convulsed her chest.

Just let it out.

* * *

Her phone rang and she lifted her head, the room blurry through her curtain of tears.

She blinked them back, took a long, fortifying breath.

If it was the precinct calling her-

She ran a hand through her hair and reached for the cell phone, snapped it open.

"Beckett."

There was a short silence on the other end, then the deep, delighted laugh of Richard Castle. "So that's how you answer your phone, uh? Sexy."

She bit her lip against a fresh, sudden rush of tears. If he could see her right now, small and naked and undone in her bathtub, would he have left her alone?

"Castle," she managed to get out past the lump in her throat.

"You're gonna need to curb that dazzling enthusiasm, Kate. I'm not used to such warm welcomes."

A laughing breath trembled out of her, her chest loosening, and she let her eyes slid closed. Maybe it would be all right.

"So how was your day? Did you arrest lots of bad guys?"

He sounded so...excited for her. She tried to gather an appropriate response.

"Hum, one, actually. Tried to run away, but I got him in the end."

"Ooh, awesome. Did you have to threaten him with your gun?"

"No, Castle," she said, rolling her eyes. But she couldn't fight her smile.

She moved to get comfortable, put her back to the edge of the tub, and the water sloshed around her.

"Are you-" The writer's voice was a little high-pitched as it trailed off, as if he didn't dare believe it was true.

"What?" she said, trying to hide her amusement.

"Was that - water I heard?" he asked, feigning detachment and failing spectacularly.

Kate shook her head at him. "Yeah, Castle, I'm taking a bath. It's been a long day, and it's freezing outside."

Silence. Was he even breathing? She sunk her teeth into her lower lip, wanted to laugh.

"Was _is it_ about men and baths? Is it the bubbles? The intimacy? Because you guys never fantasize about women in a swimming-pool."

"Oh, um, actually-"

"Ew, Castle, no. I don't want to hear your swimming-pool fantasies."

"They have these really tiny changing rooms-"

"Castle."

"Okay," he said, and she could tell he was smiling. "But a bath - I don't know. Has a lot to do with you being, well, naked, I guess. With the way water surrounds your body, kisses those lines and curves, holds them up..."

He had dropped his voice, on purpose probably, and shit - her whole body was responding to it. It was hard to breathe.

"And then your hair is wet, too, sleek dark hair that clings to your neck, and there are beads of water sliding down your throat, just begging to be licked off you-"

A tiny sound escaped her open mouth, encouragement and need both, and Kate opened her eyes again, couldn't remember closing them. She wanted him - oh, she wanted him to be doing the licking.

"Castle," she rasped, her control gone, vanished, just like that. "Come over."

"Can't," he breathed regretfully, and she could hear the arousal in his voice. "My daughter's asleep and there's no one else here."

Damn him. He worked her up like this when he couldn't do a thing about it? She groaned, could feel the pulse of blood in her body, heavy and impatient. She dipped her free hand into the water, ran her fingers over her thigh. Ohh-

"But you could," he said after a moment, his voice lifting with something like hesitation, making him sound like he was asking.

Uh? She could-?

"Come over," he finished, answering her unspoken question.

Kate froze.

Had Richard Castle just invited her to his place?

"Are you kidding me?" she said, winced at how breathless she sounded. "You're inviting me over to your place where _your daughter_ is sleeping? To-" she cursed herself for hesitating. "To have _sex_?"

"Well. It is a pretty big place, you know," he answered, that smug grin in his voice. "My daughter sleeps one floor above mine, and - don't worry - she wouldn't hear a thing."

Shit, now she was blushing.

"Castle-"

"I'm not inviting you over to play house, Kate," he said, suddenly serious. "You're not going to meet Alexis, or even sleep over. So no need to freak out, okay? I'm just saying, I want you, and I think you want me too. So my door's open. If you wanna come."

Oh, he thought he was so _clever_, didn't he?

If she wanted to come.

Damn it.

She chewed on her lip, tried to be reasonable. Sure, it wasn't that late, but she still had to be at the precinct early tomorrow, and she was in her bath, her warm, bubbly bath. She could just - she could just do it herself, right? She was halfway there already, anyway, just from listening to his words and that low, sexy voice.

Mmm, his voice.

Oh jeez.

Kate closed her eyes, couldn't believe what she was about to do.

"Okay. Where do you live?"

* * *

_Alexis_, she mused in the cab that was taking her to Tribeca. She hadn't realized until this moment how very protective Castle was of his daughter; to the point where he had even withheld her name from Kate.

Not that Beckett needed to know the girl's name, of course, or that she had any interest in meeting her. That would have meant a mess of complications, and Kate wanted, _needed,_ to keep things simple.

But - she couldn't help being intrigued. Richard Castle the dad.

She remembered that first night, how insistent he'd been on them using a condom, and bit on her lip. Yeah. She'd definitely gotten a glimpse of Responsible Rick then, and that was probably who he was with his daughter-

Not that it mattered, anyway.

The cab pulled over. She paid the driver and got out, glanced up at Castle's building. Yeah. Nice. He'd given her the security code to get in, but there was a doorman in the lobby, a brown-haired, forty-something guy who politely asked her who she was coming to see.

"Richard Castle," she answers, chin raised and looking him in the eye, daring him to say something.

But the man didn't comment, and if he'd come to his own conclusions due to the late hour and Castle's reputation, his face didn't show it.

"Last floor, and on your right when you step out of the elevator," he said, his voice even. "Have a good night, Madam."

"Thanks," Kate replied softly, somewhat ashamed at his dignified answer.

The inside of the building was not what she'd expected. It was elegant and simple, nothing over the top, no unnecessary luxuries. The elevator ran smoothly to the last floor, and she followed the doorman's directions then, stopped before the door on her right.

Kate took a deep breath, and knocked.

The door opened almost instantly.

"Hey," Castle greeted, shuffling to the side so she could get in. He was smiling, but the stiff set of his shoulders, the jerky way he moved told her he was just as nervous as she was.

When the door closed they looked at each other, the silence a palpable, awkward thing between them, and she thought _Oh god this is the worst idea ever I should have just stayed home_-

But then his lips were on hers, tender and questing, his hand tangling in her hair, curling around her neck, and Kate rose on tiptoe, opened her mouth to him in response. His tongue stroke, slow and confident, danced against hers until she was breathless.

"Missed you," he groaned, and she had no time to tell him how ridiculous that sounded because he went for her collarbone next, made her arch with need against him.

She worked at the buttons of his shirt, her fingers quick and impatient, tugged the fabric out of his pants; her palms found his naked skin. Castle growled and nipped at her neck in retaliation, the lines of his abs hard under her fingertips, and she let her eyes fall shut.

The things this man did to her-

The lovely tease of his tongue moved to her jaw, so delicate, heavenly, but then-

Then he stopped. Kate opened her eyes again, frustrated and wanting, found him staring at her in something that could only be described as awe. She swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry, and her body caught fire at the burn of his gaze.

They didn't know what they were doing, did they? Neither of them. They had no clue.

Kate waited for the panic to break free inside her, but instead - instead - she felt strung with anticipation and tight need, a dark, delicious swirl in her veins.

"You're being a terrible host," she told him, her voice rough, her lips curling up into a smirk.

He narrowed his eyes at her, but she could still see the surprise, the pleasure on his face. Like she was a wonderful, unexpected gift. The way he looked at her - it was intoxicating.

"Oh yeah?" he said, lifting an eyebrow.

"Haven't even shown me around," she said with a half-shrug, pulling her lip between her teeth as she took a step back. "Aren't I your guest here, Castle?"

"Oh, I'm sorry," he said, clearly struggling with his grin. "Would you like me to show you the kitchen, Kate? My study, maybe? The place where I write all those best-sellers?"

Oh, he was good. She was tempted by the study, more than she should have been, but there'd be time for that later. Maybe. Right now-

"Let's start with your bedroom," she suggested with a coy smile, and she slid her hand against his. "I wanna see the place where you dream all those best-sellers."

* * *

His bedroom felt just like the rest of the building to her: spacious, and more than comfortable, for sure, but he didn't seem to have gone crazy either. Hadn't gotten himself a solid gold bed-frame or anything equally ridiculous, although, let's be honest, the contents of the room were probably worth her annual salary.

She liked the colors too, earthy and warm, welcoming colors that seem to open their arms to you like Castle himself would have.

"Nice place," she said honestly, turning to him with a smile.

He seemed oddly flattered, considering he'd probably heard the compliment hundreds of times. He cast a look around and shrugged, that pleased look still shining in his eyes.

"Yeah, well. It's home," he said, and there was something in his voice that made her pause, piqued her interest. Pride, maybe, and a fierce sense of - protectiveness?

Kate tilted her head, wondering.

"How many women have you brought here?" she asked, pushed by a sudden intuition.

"What?" He seemed surprised and - defensive.

"How many women have been in your room? It's not such a difficult question," she mocked, an eyebrow lifted at him.

He opened his mouth; nothing came out.

"Not asking how many women you've slept with," she pointed out, amused that it took so little to make supposed playboy Richard Castle speechless. "Only the ones you've brought here, Castle."

He looked reluctant, so reluctant; and yet he didn't try to lie to her.

"Two," he finally admitted, his eyes not meeting hers.

"Two?" Oh, wow. Okay, she'd expected the number to be low, and it make sense when you saw how protective he was of his daughter, but-

_Two?_

"I'm guessing your ex-wife is number one," she said, mostly to fill the silence. Her theory was rewarded by his disheartened nod.

"And the second one...?" She tried to remember if she'd read anything in the magazines-

But Castle looked at her like she was insane.

"Wha-?" _Oh._

"_You_'re number two, Kate," he said with a raise of his eyebrows, as if to say, _isn't that obvious._

Fine, she just hadn't thought he was-

Counting her.

Okay. Oh god. She was number two.

He was giving her a hesitant look, like a child who'd done something wrong and was waiting for his mother to start scolding. "Don't...freak out?"

She sucked in a breath, clamped down on her urge to run. She could do this, she could-

"Okay," she said, tried to pull herself together. "Why...am I here, then?"

He seemed confused. "What do you mean, _Why?_"

"Why did you ask me to come here? If this place means so much to you, and you're so careful not to share it with anyone-"

"Because I couldn't come to you," he answered immediately, shoulder lifting in a half-shrug as he stepped closer. "And I wanted to."

She moved back, couldn't decide if he was avoiding her question on purpose, or just completely missing her point. "Castle-"

He sighed, ran a hand through his hair. "Because...I trust you, Kate. Because you're not after my money, or my fame, and you're not trying to use my daughter to get through to me. So it's - safe - to have you here."

Her throat felt thick, full.

"How do you know?" she asked, barely breathing. "How do you know it's safe?"

He looked at her, his blue eyes so intense, so deep she couldn't help being sucked in.

"I just know," he replied quietly, as if he regretted not having a better answer for her.

He moved closer and this time she let him, her eyes drifting shut when his hand curled around her neck, his thumb at her jaw.

"Tell me I'm wrong, Kate," he murmured against her cheek, but she couldn't, of course she couldn't. She wasn't here for his fame or his daughter; she was here because of the way his voice wrapped around her, entrancing and deep, because of the way it caressed things inside her that she hadn't even known were there.

She was here because she couldn't resist him.

"You're not," she said, and she splayed a hand at his neck, lifted into him to take his mouth. She skidded her teeth along his bottom lip, pushed her tongue inside when he opened with a growl, offered the wet cavern of his mouth to her exploration. "You're not."

* * *

She was delicious. The tight ribbon of her body against him, the slow undulation of her lips as she kissed him deep, moaned into his mouth-

He curled his hands at her sides and stilled her, pushed her back just long enough to shrug his shirt off, undo his belt. He needed her skin, her bare skin, taut and warm against him.

She watched, her eyes so dark, pools of ink staring at him; her lower lip was curled between her teeth, plump, red from the assault. Oh, he would nurse that lip - he would soothe it with his tongue until she arched under him.

She'd started unbuttoning her own shirt when he reached back for her; he grabbed her hands and pulled her close, their bodies flush, took care of the shirt himself. The bra underneath was beautiful in the way it framed her breasts, seemed to lift them up towards him. He bent to kiss the tender skin, felt her shiver against him.

"Is that for me, Kate?" he asked as he skimmed his lips over the edge of the deep blue lace, darted his tongue at her chest.

She made a soft, wonderful sound, all surprised pleasure, and gasped, "Don't get cocky, now."

He laughed out loud at the double-entendre, unsure she'd done that on purpose, kissed the heated throb of her pulse. "You sure that's what you want?" he murmured teasingly. "Because I could have sworn-"

"Stop. Talking," she ordered, hooked a hand in his boxers as she did. His muscles jumped at the touch of his fingers, his body coiling tight, and he slid his hand over the expanse of her back, deftly undid the clasp of her bra.

Oh, he loved touching her. His palm met the pointed end of a breast, brushed over it, and she let out a deep sigh, her mouth open at his jaw, her teeth grazing. He dropped his other hand to her pants, tugging to get the jeans past the curve of her ass; she laughed into his neck, a small, bubbly sound, and he drew back to narrow his eyes at her.

"Glad my efforts to get you naked seem to be so amusing," he dropped, but couldn't maintain the offended look, not when her hair was a dark tousle around her face, her flushed cheeks, her parted lips.

"Could have just asked me to get my pants off," she shot back, that wry little lift to her mouth that he adored.

He hooked his fingers into one of her belt loops, jerked her closer, his lips at her ear. "Get the pants off," he ordered huskily.

"Haven't said _please,_" she teased breathlessly, her smile pressed to his cheek.

He trailed his hand to her belly button, then dipped it down, sneaking two fingers into her underwear, snug against her wet heat. She sucked in a breath as her hips bucked fiercely, once, twice, and he grinned.

"Please," he said.


	9. Chapter 9

The way she looked, the length of her nude body stretched out over his bed - maybe he hadn't been completely honest with her. Maybe he'd invited her over just because he wanted to see this, the dark shine of her hair against his sheets, the pale spread of her legs, the expectant curve of her mouth.

Rick shed his boxers and lowered himself onto her, deliberate, letting their limbs meet one after the other. She whined when his chest crushed the roundness of her breasts, and he parted his mouth at her throat, exhilarated by the sound, the softness of her.

She was a cop, and he'd seen her in control, had seen her sharp and fierce and firing her gun, but when she was in bed under him-

He could not get over how expressive, how responsive she was, how every brush of his lips, of his fingers seemed to do it for her. He'd been with women who could do crazy stuff in the bedroom, Meredith included, but he wasn't sure he'd ever been with someone so open, so giving as Kate was.

He slowly licked the sweat that had pooled at her collarbone, heard her gasp as he relished the salty taste of her, the way she smelled. More - he wanted more of it. But before he could move, her palms had cradled his face, brought it up against hers; she pressed a feverish kiss to his lips, urgent and adoring, and he gave in to the warm oasis of her mouth.

She rocked her hips into his, hooked a leg around his thigh, a not-so-subtle nudge that had him smiling against her. She thought she could make him do what she wanted, uh?

_Not-uh, Kate_. It didn't work like that.

"What are you doing," she hissed when he abandoned her lips, moved down on her, stringing kisses along her abdomen as he went. He teased her sides with his fingers, flicked his tongue at the taut, supple skin, loving the way she came up against his mouth.

When he reached the jut of her hipbone, he raised his head to look at her across the planes and curves of her body. She was watching him, her head tilted to the side, her eyes wide with-

Was that apprehension?

"Kate?" he asked gently, spoke the words into her skin.

"Yeah," she murmured, hardly more than an exhale.

"You're gonna love this," he promised with a small smile, still unsure what that was on her face.

Her chest heaved as she stared, her eyes dark, unreadable. Had she never had anyone-

He tried to refrain from asking - for about three seconds. "Kate. Have you never-"

"Don't be stupid," she cut him, her eyes flashing. "Of course I have. Just - do your thing, Castle."

"Do my thing?" he repeated, willed himself not to laugh. Whoever it was she'd tried oral sex with - clearly it hadn't left her with a lasting impression.

Oh, but he could change that.

"Do you trust me, Kate?"

The question unsettled her; she swallowed, her lashes fluttering as she clearly tried to figure a way out of this that wouldn't mean replying.

He moved his hand down, tracing the line of her hipbone before he skimmed the sensitive flesh of her thigh, down and up, down - and up. He paused with his fingertips at her clit, so light a touch; but he could still feel how wet she was, how very ready.

She had her teeth gritted, obviously trying not to make a sound, but when he pushed a finger inside her she keened, her hips lifting into his hand.

"Do you trust me?" he asked again, thrusting a second finger in as he spoke.

She gasped, her head rolling back, let out a string of curses before she panted, "Yes, yes, I trust you, I-"

"You sure?" he asked perversely, grinning as he curled a finger.

"Ohh _God_," she moaned, her whole body moving with him, responding to him. "Oh Castle don't - please - don't make me say it again, _oh_-"

So beautiful - amazing. She was amazing.

He took one last look at her, the dark sweep of her lashes over her cheeks, the gorgeous arc of her throat as she fought to breathe, and he leaned in to press his mouth to her core.

* * *

The flat of his tongue on her-

Oh god, she'd never known anything like it.

Kate arched off the bed, a cry ripped from her throat, all of her surging up at the electric touch, wanting to escape or get closer, she couldn't be sure.

And then his palms were at her abdomen, pushing her down, pinning her to the bed, and he couldn't - he couldn't do that to her, for god's sake, oh, oh, she needed to _move-_

"Trust me," came the husky reminder of his voice, and she surrendered with a plaintive sob, fisted her hands on the sheet, the pillow, anything she could find.

He was slow - oh god, he was so slow - so reverent, so loving as he skidded his tongue across her clit, teased it with barely there brushes, then a firmer press that made her growl low in her throat.

One of her legs found its way over his shoulder, her heel digging into his back, and for a second he took the burn of his mouth away, caressed her inside thigh instead, sparking fire underneath her skin.

But before she could voice a protest he was working at her again, and using his lips too, taking her - oh god what was he _doing_ - with his _teeth_ - oh-

He hummed, the vibrations shimmying through her in a way that had to be illegal, had to be, how could nobody have written a law against that, and then, _oh then_ - he sucked.

He sucked on her clit and Kate shattered, couldn't do a thing to hold it together; she came, raw and undone, their bodies pushed closer again and again by the sharp jerks of her own, the breathless shadow of his name falling from her lips.

* * *

He felt her move against him in the darkness, reached sleepily for her.

His hand encountered soft flesh instead, the rounded edge of a breast, and she caught his wrist with a soft hiss.

"Easy," Kate said quietly, sounding much too sharp. He turned to her, tried to gather enough awakeness for a conversation.

"Where you going?"

She let go of his arm, set it down on the bed; her fingers lingered over his for the briefest moment. He closed his eyes.

"Home," she murmured. "Remember? I got work tomorrow. And you don't want your daughter to see me."

His daughter-

There was a thumb against his temple, fingertips into his hair, and the contact was so light, so tender that it made him sigh with happiness. What were they talking about again?

"Night," she whispered, moving away like a ghost.

He wanted to tell her no, stay, _stay in bed_, but his throat was thick, his brain sluggish, and he couldn't find the words - he was already asleep again.

Kate.

* * *

The next morning, she opened her jewelry box with careful hands, and after putting on her father's watch, she reached for the fine chain she'd slipped her mother's engagement ring onto.

The diamond caught the morning light, spun under the light touch of her fingers.

Kate pushed the breath out of her lungs, then brought the ring to her lips, gave it a fleeting kiss before she pulled the chain around her neck.

Of course, the spirit of her mother wasn't contained in a stone. She wasn't stupid enough to believe that. But Kate felt closer to her mom when she wore it, closer to the bright, lively, guiding presence Johanna had always been, and she - needed that today.

She needed to remember.

_Stick to the plan, Beckett._

* * *

Her dad called her when she was buying lunch for the team. Beckett hesitated when she saw his name on the screen, but she juggled the bags of food to her left wrist, pressed the call button.

"Dad. Hey."

"Katie. Is this...a bad time?"

She bit her lip, realized how brisk she'd sounded. "No. No, I - I'm just buying lunch for the guys at the precinct. But I have five minutes."

The relationship between her and her dad was still so very...brittle. She could tell he was trying, and she was trying too, but - two months of sobriety didn't make up for the five years where he'd failed her, the five years she'd had no one to count on but herself.

She wished it could have.

"How are you doing?" he asked, that genuine interest in his voice that completely scrambled her insides. She had missed it.

"Hum, good, actually. Life is...pretty good right now."

"Yeah?"

Oh god, what did he want her to say? She wasn't used to sharing anymore.

"Took part in an arrest yesterday," she told him, grasping at the first thing she could think of. "A guy who was suspected of selling naked pictures of underage girls. And we got him."

Her father sighed on the other end of the line, and she winced, wished she hadn't given him that many details.

"Good for you, sweetie," he said with a noticeable effort, and she was ridiculously grateful for it. This was her life, the life she'd chosen for herself while he wasn't looking, refused to look, and she...

She wanted him to be okay with it.

"Look, I was thinking," he went on, a nervous edge to his voice that made Kate wary. "The Joyce Theater is playing _The Phantom Of The Opera_ this season..."

Oh no.

"And you know it was always your mother's favorite musical, and each year we would find a different production of it, and go see it for her birthday-"

Of course she knew. How could she not know? Kate closed her eyes for a moment, had to lean against the wall outside the coffee shop.

"I just thought, maybe we could honor the tradition even now that she's gone. It could still be our family thing, Katie, you and me and _The Phantom Of The Opera_. What do you say?"

She had to get back to the precinct. She couldn't cry, not now, not in the street where people could _see _her.

"Dad, I'm not sure-"

"Oh, you don't have to give me an answer right now. I just saw the poster outside the theater, and I figured I would call you, see how you felt about it. They're not even selling tickets yet anyway-"

"Dad. It's just..." She could already see them, seats in the front row because that's where her mother always wanted to sit, utterly miserable as they watched a musical they knew every line of by heart. They would spend every second of it missing Johanna, not even enjoying themselves.

"Let's do something else for her birthday," she suggested, intent on saving this somehow. "You and me, like you said. Let's - get breakfast, or go to the museum, something _we_ like. That's what Mom would want for us."

There was a long silence on the other end, and she thought she'd said too much - maybe she should just have told him that she couldn't know in advance when she'd have to work, make up some excuse-

"You're right," her dad said, and it was all she could do not to sigh in relief. "You're right. Of course. _The Phantom Of The Opera_," he said wryly. "What was I thinking?"

The urge to hug him was unexpected, overwhelming; Beckett was made breathless by it.

"Dad?"

"Yeah?"

"I love you," she said quickly, before she could think better of it.

"I love you too, Katie," he replied after a moment, and she could hear the emotion in his voice. Enough, enough.

"I hum, gotta go," she said, pushing herself off the building.

"Oh, yes. Sure. You...you'll be careful?"

"Promise, Dad," she answered with a smile, and then she snapped her phone shut, slid it back in her pocket. Whew.

That had gone - really well, actually.

Almost like she had her father back.

* * *

Beckett pushed the door open with her shoulder, her hands full with the bags, made her way to the elevator. The sergeant at the front desk, Yates, was talking to a foreign couple, giving them directions to Times Square; Kate pressed the call button, only halfway listening, when a familiar voice caught her attention.

"...just tell me what floor Vice is on?"

Oh no. She had to be dreaming. Had to.

"I'm looking for a friend of mine, Kate - hum, Beckett, sorry. She works here, right?"

She was not dreaming.

Beckett slowly turned back towards the desk, and sure enough, here he was. Richard Castle, asking Yates for directions to her floor. From the mean looks the couple were directing at him, he hadn't exactly waited for his turn.

Why was he even here, anyway?

Kate took a deep breath and headed back towards the group. Best to deal with a splinter before it could get infected.

The click of her heels on the tiles had everyone's heads turning to her as she approached; Castle's face split into a delighted grin when he saw her.

"Kate!"

"Castle," she hissed between clenched teeth, beckoning him to a corner where they could maybe get a modicum of privacy. "Sorry, Sergeant," she told Yates over her shoulder, wincing inwardly at the interest on his face.

Oh, this was going to bite her in the ass.

"I found you," Castle said, bouncing and exultant at her back, and she couldn't help herself. Beckett set the bags of food down, spun on her heels and poked him in the chest.

"What the_ hell _are you doing here?"

His mouth opened, closed, as if he couldn't believe she wasn't jumping for joy. Seriously?

"I wanted to see the place where you work," he said at last, his voice rising defensively. "I had a meeting at Black Pawn this morning and it's not far from here."

Ugh. "Castle," she said, making a considerable effort to soften her tone. "Like you said. This is my workplace. In case you haven't noticed, I'm a woman. And I'm a cop. Those two things don't exactly go well together, and the last thing I need is my-"

Oh god. Had she almost said _boyfriend_?

"-is _you _showing up here acting like you own me," she finished, pleased with her quick save.

"I'm not acting like I _own you-_"

"You asked for me at the front desk!"

"I said you were my friend!"

Kate pinched the bridge of her nose between two fingers, tried to contain herself.

"I even bought you coffee," he added, his voice lower now, somewhat disheartened. He did have to-go cups in his hands, and the smell was heavenly.

She sighed. "That's...sweet, Castle. But you can't just come in here and ask for me."

He pouted, and it looked far more adorable than it should have, considering he was way over five. "Will you show me the inside?"

"What? _No_!" Jeez-

"Oh, come on-"

"Castle." What language did she have to use to make him understand? "All my coworkers are here right now. They would never, ever, _ever_ let me live that down. Is that what you want for me, to be the laughing stock of the Vice squad?"

His eyes darkened, a stormy grey now, and his shoulders sagged. "No," he said moodily.

"Yeah, me either."

"So what, I should just leave?"

He looked so disappointed; she experienced a unexpected jab of guilt, pulled her lip between her teeth. But what could she do?

"Do I get a kiss?" he asked, lifting a semi-hopeful eyebrow.

"Castle."

"Right," he exhaled with a nod. "Okay, hum. I guess I'll just...leave you alone then."

He started to turn, the coffees in his hands still, and Kate just-

"Wait."

His head swiveled, blue eyes entirely too eager, and she hated herself for not being able to let him go. "Look, the precinct's really busy right now, but maybe - maybe tonight, when everybody's gone, you can come back and I'll give you a quick tour."

A quick tour? What was she _doing?_

"Yeah?" he said, his mouth curling up.

"I said maybe_,_ Castle. Some of the guys work pretty late, and I can't predict-"

"I get it," he said hastily, as if he expected her to take back her offer anytime. "I get it. Maybe. Maybe's good. Always better than _no._"

Right. "So I'll - text you, okay?"

He smiled at her, so bright she almost stepped back.

"Okay. Text. Sounds good."

"All right. Well. See you later, then."

"Have fun catching bad guys," he shot back with a wriggle of his eyebrow. And then he really turned to leave, but there was one more thing.

"Hey, Castle?"

"Yeah?"

She closed the space between them in a few steps, let her fingers curl around one of the cups. Her thumb brushed his pinky.

"I'll take that coffee."


	10. Chapter 10

Rick fisted his hands on the lapels of his coat, but he wasn't cold; he was much too excited to be cold.

The text she'd sent said to wait for her in the alley on the left side of the 12th precinct. The alley he was in right now. He assumed she would get him in through one of the emergency exits, since the main door had to be locked at - what time was it now? Oh, half past ten.

An emergency exit. How cool was that?

She was going to sneak him in like a secret agent, like a-

As if on cue, a door opened a couple yards away, a stern grey door that creaked as Kate slid her slender body through the opening, cast a look around.

He jogged towards her, knew he was beaming but couldn't help himself, not even at the slightly hesitant look on her face. Her hair was mussed, liked she'd had a long day and run her hand through it more than a couple times; it was completely adorable.

"Hey," he said brightly, bouncing up the couple steps that led to the door she was holding for him. He didn't let himself think about it - he leaned in to press a quick, sloppy kiss to her lips, noticed the surprise in her wide eyes before he turned to walk into the precinct.

The corridor was dark, the only light coming from the emergency exit sign, and hell - he was loving this. When the door slammed, Kate came to stand at his side, her face bathed in that pale green light, the angles sharper, cheekbones standing out, her eyes unfathomable pools. All he wanted was to kiss her again.

"Where's that sexy uniform of yours?" he asked, realizing she was wearing plain clothes instead of the blue he'd found so appealing earlier.

"I changed," she said, like it should be obvious. "I usually do when I'm off duty, Castle. My uniform's not exactly the most comfortable thing."

"But it's hot," he pouted, couldn't help picturing himself taking it off her-

"Yeah, well. Sorry to disappoint," she said, her voice short, a little strained. "So, Vice floor's empty. I checked. We can start there," she offered, so matter-of-fact, like she was actually a freaking tour guide about to give him the history of the place.

No, no, no. It wouldn't do. It wouldn't do _at all._

Rick fully turned his body to hers, stepping forward, and his mouth stretched into a smirk when he realized she wasn't moving back. She wasn't looking at him either, but he could see even in the faint light how shallow her breathing was, could see the lovely curve of her throat as she swallowed.

Oh, she had it pretty bad, didn't she?

He threaded a hand into her hair, curled his fingers at her nape so he could orient her face towards his, and he slanted his mouth over hers. She parted her lips immediately, so hot and responsive, all of her lifting up into him, tongue and breasts and hips, that gorgeous body so tight against his.

Shit, forget about the tour - he just wanted _her_.

He pushed her against the wall and she growled against his lips, sexy and dark, making his blood pound with need. Her fingers were fisted at his coat, too many layers away from his skin, but he couldn't think clearly with her tongue in his mouth.

He slid a hand under her shirt and was pleased to find she wasn't wearing anything underneath. Apparently she didn't need any more layers; the city cared enough about their protectors to keep the precincts warm in the deepest of winter.

Castle had no issue whatsoever with his tax money being spent that way.

He skimmed his fingers over Kate's ribs, felt her shiver against his hand, arch into it. She was so very, very hot-

"So, how - safe - is this corridor, exactly?" he murmured against her mouth, his palm brushing over the cotton of her bra. He pushed his thumb against her skin, slid it under the cup, got a breathless moan for his troubles.

"Ah - pretty - pretty safe," she panted, teeth grazing at his lower lip. Her hands had dropped to his pants, hooked at the waistband, but they were not moving.

"No chance of one of your colleagues finding us down here, arresting us for public exposure?" Oh, that would have been _rich_ - arrested inside the precinct itself-

"No," she breathed out, shivering when he licked a hot trail along her neck. "They all - they all get out the other way."

The other way?

"What are you saying?" he asked, feathering his lips over her jaw in between words. "This is your secret entrance, Kate? You sneaked me in using your secret passageway?"

She made a low, needy sound in response, hips canting into his, her hands working again - she was tugging his shirt out of his pants, reaching for his zipper.

Shit, she was so hot. He pushed a kiss into her mouth, ruthless, loving the way her tongue came up against his, fought for control. She gave just as much as she took, and he loved that about her.

He dropped his left hand to her thigh, palm spreading over the denim before he curled his fingers underneath, felt the ripple of muscle as he tugged her leg up; it wrapped willingly around his own thigh, the sharp dig of the heel like a lovely signature move.

"Haul me up," she urged, speaking into his mouth, not even breaking the kiss.

Her fingers were in his hair now, tightly wound, and he had to roll his lips at the delicious tension, the spark of pain mixing with the pleasure.

"Castle," she moaned, an edge to her voice that got his attention. "Grab my ass and pull me _up_."

Oh. Yes.

He did as he was told, all breath squeezed out of him when she adjusted her legs around his waist, the heat of her pressed just where he needed it.

"Oh yeah," she sighed against his cheek, her mouth open, the scrape of her teeth. "Oh." She rocked against him, her body so smooth, burning under his palms, and he crushed her into the wall, couldn't get close enough, not with their clothes on.

"Kate," he pleaded, not sure what he was begging for, just-

"Yes, yes," she chanted in his ear, caught the tender flesh of his lobe between his teeth.

Fuck, he needed to - he was not doing this again, not with the clothes-

He managed to squirm a hand down between their bodies, found the open fly of her jeans, wriggling his fingers under the fitted material - jeez, he loved her tight clothes, but they were entirely unpractical. And if she could just stop _undulating those damn hips_-

Oh, here he was. He grinned smugly, pushed two fingers down into her panties, felt the slick lace, the wet heat of her parting for him. Kate was gasping at his neck, her body suddenly gone still, as if in expectation of what he was about to do to her; he turned his head to brush a kiss to her temple, then slid a finger inside.

He could feel her inner muscles gripping him, could feel just how tight and ready she was, just at the edge; he would get her to fall.

"You feel amazing," he murmured, because it was true, and he had a feeling she enjoyed being talked to. The long shiver of her body against him encouraged him to go on. "So soft and wet, Kate."

She mewled, a tiny, tiny sound, her eyes shut tight like she couldn't take it, couldn't take the sight of him speaking the words.

"I want," she breathed, a sob, a tiny puff of air.

"What?" he nudged, his voice a caress. He added another finger, moved them slowly, slowly, out, and in again. "What do you want, Kate?"

"You," she said between clenched teeth. "You, Castle. Not - not-"

"Oh, you'll have me," he promised, smiling at her cheekbone. "You'll have me. But this first."

And he started rolling his hips again, in time with the rhythm of his hand in her panties, faster and faster, twisting and stroking until she was breathless, breaking against him, her body jerking, her moist, red lips frozen in an O of pleasure as she came.

* * *

He let her catch her breath, a hand around her neck, dropping light kisses over her eyebrow, her nose, her chin as the haze slowly dissipated. Kate gave herself a moment to feel again, revel in all those exquisite points of contact that sparked fire in her veins.

Then she opened her eyes, turned her mouth into his as her hand traveled down.

She felt him jolt against her palm, gasp into her lips, and she smiled.

Hmm, she had her legs around him, and there was no way she was moving them to get his pants off. But if she just unbuckled his belt, finished sliding that zipper open-

Surely that would be enough space.

She needed her other hand to work at the belt, because her fingers were still trembling; Castle laughed, but it was so shaky and tense a thing that she couldn't really take offense.

When she reached the soft silk of his boxers, she groaned in displeasure, so annoyed at the extra layer she had forgotten about. The boxers had an opening too though, thank god, and she carefully guided his erection through it. Her fingers slid over the delicate skin, the heated throb, wrapped around the base.

"Ah, Kate," he growled, his hips thrusting faintly into her hand.

It was exhilarating, the power she had over him.

And he didn't try to hide it, he didn't try to take back control, he just - lay it all out, his eyes closed as he enjoyed her ministrations.

Intoxicating.

She squeezed, once, twice, then let her fingertips run over his length even as her left hand cupped him. He was sucking air like a drowning man at her neck, sharp, desperate intakes, and she so wanted to press the flat of her tongue to him-

Some other time.

"Stop," he managed to get out, his voice thin, strung out. "Kate, stop, stop."

She stilled her hands, but didn't let go.

"Condom?" she murmured, since he had been so insistent the previous times.

"Oh. Yes. In my coat, inside pocket-"

Huh. Had she managed to make him forget about his precious condom? Kate smirked, so very pleased with herself, and felt for his coat pocket. His wallet was inside, a few condoms stacked in a carefully-closed compartment.

"Don't wanna lose them, uh?"

He didn't answer, just reached for the condom she'd taken out, ripped the package open with his teeth. Heat flared in her belly, flamed up, and she let his wallet fall to the floor.

"Wait," she said, staying his hand as he moved to sheath himself. "Let me."

She'd never done this before. The boyfriends she'd had all seemed convinced that dealing with the condom was the man's role, his preserve, and she held her breath, curious to see what Castle would say.

He didn't even argue. He surrendered the condom to her with a raw sound at the back of his throat, his eyes sliding shut at the gentle work of her fingers. Kate pulled her lip between her teeth, arranged the thin protection as slowly as she could; just doing that, being in charge and able to feel the way his breath caught at her touch-

It so did it for her.

She curled a guiding hand around him, but the angle was awkward, not enough room; she needed him to move back. "Castle," she whispered, her control wavering. "Scoot back."

His eyes slowly opened again, the blue drowned in dark arousal, his face so carefully held together that it made her ache for him.

"Just an inch," she told him. "Just a tiny bit-"

He put his hands at her waist, holding her in place while he shuffled back, and yeah, that was _perfect_. The tip of him at her entrance, just right-

He pushed inside slowly, never stopping, splitting her apart, and Kate had to fist a hand to his bicep, her whole body still, wound with how good it was.

"Fuck," he moaned against her temple when he was all the way in.

She arched in answer, wanted to feel every possible inch of him.

"Yes, please," she murmured in his ear, and she heard his laugh, a strangled, garbled thing, before his first thrust.

He took her by surprise, moved faster, harder than he had until now, and she couldn't help crying out, struck all over again by just how _amazing_ it was-

"Gotta keep quiet if you don't want to get arrested," he panted into her mouth, but she couldn't tease back, she couldn't think of anything to say except his name, his name.

"Cas- Castle," she begged, whined, her head hitting the wall when he slid out and rocked back into her. Oh, oh, yes-

"You like it rough, Kate?" he asked in her ear, and shit, shit, his words coupled with the harsh reality of the wall at her back, the wet heat of the slides, how well he fit inside her-

He thrust once more, so hard, so good, and it was all she could take; her body clutched him, her head thrown back, her legs clamping over his waist as her inner muscles milked him, squeezed and squeezed and squeezed, never ending, his teeth at her shoulder barely registering amidst the white wash of her orgasm.

* * *

He couldn't hold himself up; he had to spin them around, then slide down with his back to the wall, Kate cradled in his lap.

His heartbeat wouldn't slow down.

Her chest was rising and falling against his, in time with his too-fast, shallow breathing, and they just stayed like that for a long moment, her forehead resting against his cheek, his hand loosely curled at her back.

He was still wearing his coat, he noticed inanely. No wonder he was so hot.

Right. They probably needed to get away from this corridor before they ran out of luck and someone found them. He rested his head against the wall, gathered as much willpower as he could find.

"Hey, Kate?"

She let out a long sigh, as if waking from a dream, and carefully pushed herself off him, setting her knees on both sides of his legs.

"Yeah, I know," she answered, pushing her short hair back with a hand. "How about we start the tour with the gym, uh? It's on this floor and we can use the bathroom to..freshen up."

Shit, her voice was so hoarse still. Gorgeous. And he'd done that.

"Gym, uh? Is that where you train that hot body of yours?"

The flash of her eyes at him, startled, aroused again.

"Yeah, Castle," she dropped, the corner of her mouth curling up into a smirk. "And I can take you anytime."

"I demand proof," he said, grinning, watched her as she got to her feet.

So tall, so sexy. She didn't even stumble on the heels, didn't look at him as she zipped up her pants, redid the buttons of her shirt.

He had to get up too, he realized, but he could feel his knees protesting the very idea.

"I'll give you all the proof you need," she said, lifting an eyebrow at him. She took a few steps to her right, then turned back, her eyes finding his.

"You coming or what?"

"Think I just did that," Rick grinned, but even as she rolled her eyes he was already scrambling to his feet in his eagerness to follow.

* * *

The gym was pretty basic, white brick walls and an equipment that looked more than a few years old, but just the knowledge that Kate used this place to keep in shape was enough to make it utterly interesting to him.

He snooped around while she used the bathroom, hurt his fist against the sandbag (damn, these things were _hard_), managed to do one pull-up before his feet hit the floor again, his shoulders burning.

Okay, so maybe he needed to start exercising a little more often.

Kate was taking a long time; he went back to the door she'd disappeared behind, hovered near until she came out. She gave him a surprised look.

"Could have come in, you know. Plenty of space."

He opened his mouth, not sure what to say to that, not sure if the way she meant it-

But she held the door open for him and he could see what he'd taken to be a bathroom was actually a long room with lockers, stalls, sinks and...

"Hey, you even have showers!"

She smirked at him, her eyes dark, too much knowledge on that face. "Don't hold your breath, Castle. Our showers are hardly fantasy material."

He bypassed her and went in, curious to investigate; but he was disappointed to find that she was right. More than right.

"Ew. No way I would shower in that," he winced, inspecting the no-longer white tile, the tiny space. "It's got to be a health hazard."

"Well, maybe you wouldn't be so regarding if your clothes were covered in blood," she threw rather off-handedly, making his head jerk back to her.

Oh. He - yeah. He was the type that looked at the brighter side of things, the glass half-full, and so when he thought of being a cop... He saw the awesome things, the gun, the getting to drive past the speed limit and run the siren.

He hadn't really wanted to think of the rest, not in association with Kate, young, beautiful, fascinating Kate.

"Did that...happen to you?" he asked, couldn't help the way his voice caught in his throat. "Your clothes covered in blood?"

_Idiot_, he thought the moment he had formed the words. She was a cop - of course it had-

But she didn't tease him for asking, didn't shrug off his question; she just leveled a long, thoughtful look on him, one that made him feel like she could see right to his heart.

"Yeah, Castle," she said softly. "Happened a couple times. Most of those it wasn't my blood, though," she added with a tiny smile, as if that should comfort him.

But it didn't; it did the opposite. He had to struggle to suck in a breath.

"Have you ever killed someone?"

Her face darkened, her eyes a sad, cloudy grey. "What do you think being a cop means, Castle?"

But she was so _young._

"Who was it?"

She broke eye contact, dropping her gaze to the floor as she took a long breath.

"A guy who was dealing drugs in the street. We were going to arrest him nicely, but he - reached for his gun unexpectedly, had it trained on my partner's head, and I-"

"You did what you had to do," Rick murmured, feeling a swirling rush of guilt for making her tell him this.

After a pause she looked up at him, weary but confident still, unwavering. "I shot a couple people, you know. That guy's the only one who died so far, but there's bound to be others. I warned you. Not someone you wanna get to know-"

He cut her off with his mouth, lips working gently over hers, nothing like the frenzy from before. "As far as I'm concerned," he said quietly, holding her chin between two fingers, "maybe that drug dealer would have tried to sell to my kid someday. And maybe she'd have said no, and he'd have gotten his gun out anyway, and she'd have been the one shot dead in an alley. Don't think I'm not grateful, Kate. And I might not look like I do, but I realize how much it must have cost you."

He felt the little sigh she let out, a flicker of warmth over his lips, and then her hand was sliding up his chest, curling at his neck as she kissed him back, a long drink from his mouth, slow and deep and mind-numbing.

"I think we've seen enough of the gym, uh?" she whispered against his chin when she let him go, eyes opening again with a mesmerizing sweep of her dark lashes.

"Mmm, definitely," he answered, brushed a kiss to the corner of that beautiful mouth. "I wanna see the Vice floor now. You promised."

Something like surprise crossed her face, but it was followed by a smile, however faint. "I said _maybe_, Castle. That's not a promise."

"Sure it is," he said happily, tugging her from the wall, and towards the door. "You said maybe you would text me and give me a tour. You texted me, thus engaging to give me the promised tour."

She huffed a laugh, shook her head at him. "Your mind is twisted."

"And yet you love my novels," he shot back, lifted a smug eyebrow.

She swatted his chest, hard enough that he actually opened his mouth in protest - but she wouldn't let him. "That better be the last time you use this against me, Richard Castle," she warned. "Or next time your ear will be the one to suffer. And it won't be pretty."

Ohhh, that was scary. But kinda hot.

Kinda really hot.

She was waiting for an answer, her pointed gaze resting on him, and he nodded eagerly, would have done pretty much anything to please her.

"Now can we go see Vice?"

She laughed, all of her stern cop look melting away, and he just really loved that glimpse of teeth he got. God, she was stunning.

"Fine," she said. "But expect to be disappointed."

She lead him away with two fingers loosely threaded into his, her hips swinging in those tight jeans, and he wasn't sure how to tell her that he could never be disappointed by a place _she_ was showing him into.


	11. Chapter 11

He had so many questions.

She had hoped a quick glimpse at the Vice bull pen would satisfy him that there was really nothing fascinating here; she couldn't have been more wrong.

Castle wanted to know everything. He wanted to now about the squad; he wanted to know what she did all day, what were her favorite parts of the job, what they ate for lunch.

At first she was flattered - he _was_ her favorite writer, and even if he hadn't been, any good-looking man showing that much interest in her would probably have had the same kind of effect. (At least, that was what she told herself.)

But it quickly became exhausting, this unending flow of questions, his never-abating energy; besides, some of his enquiries were really pointless, and Kate had never been the patient kind.

So when he asked if they got daily deliveries of donuts, she decided it was enough.

"Okay, Castle. I think we can maybe head out now."

"What?" he exclaimed, a little boy whine in his voice. "But I haven't seen anything yet!"

"Are you kidding me? What have we been doing for the last half-hour?"

He opened his mouth, a rebellious look on his face, but she didn't give him a chance to speak. "Maybe you should have stopped asking me questions if what you wanted to do was explore, Castle. Now your time is up. Come on."

She turned her back on him, took a few steps towards the elevator, and glanced back over her shoulder. He wasn't moving.

"I can make you, you know," she said, her voice even despite her weariness.

"That's hot," he grinned, and she rolled her eyes.

"Castle."

"How about a compromise? You show me one last thing, and then we leave."

It was so annoying, the way he constantly negotiated for things. But he was pouting and making eyes at her, and-

"And we'll leave then? I won't have to make you?"

"Promise," he said eagerly, his face lighting up even in the semi-dark. She'd left the lights off, didn't want to make their presence known, but it seemed like Castle loved that even more, the secretiveness, the sneaking in.

Go figure.

"Fine," she relented with a sigh. "What do you want to see?"

"Do you have a shooting range?"

Oh no. "I'm not taking you to the shooting range, Castle."

"You said-"

She stepped closer and caught his ear between two fingers, twisted sharply.

"Ow! Ow ow _ow_ - that _hurts_, Kate _please_-"

She loosened her grip, but didn't let go completely. He needed to learn. "I'm not taking you to the shooting range because I know you - you're gonna want to shoot. And there is _no way in hell_ I'm letting you fire my gun at eleven at night. Or ever, for that matter. Got it?"

"Yes, yes," he said pitifully, his hand covering his ear, as if in preparation for the next attack.

She pursed her mouth, decided he was sincere, and stepped back. He was muttering under his breath, something about her being insane, not knowing her strength, and she couldn't help smiling a little.

He was overly curious, could be annoying as hell, but...it sure was a lot of fun to tease him.

"So what do you want to see, other than the firing range?"

He was still rubbing his hand to his ear, but the expression on his face slowly morphed from sulking to thoughtful. "Is there an interrogation room on this floor?"

She should have thought of that.

"Yeah, actually. It's over there." She nodded to their right.

He gave her an assessing look, eyes narrowed. "Am I allowed to see it?"

She bit her lip, knew he could see her smile anyway. "Yeah, Castle. We can go. I can even question you on your activities last night," she added, lifting an eyebrow at him.

"Ohh, role play," he murmured, letting her take the lead. "I'd like that."

Yeah, she'd thought he might.

* * *

"So that's the famous one-way mirror, right?"

He knocked on the glass, but it didn't sound any different from a normal mirror. Awesome.

"Yup," she said from somewhere at his back. "Anybody could be watching us right now, Castle."

He looked at the glass, almost spooked, turned back to her. She was half-sitting on the interrogation table, the long line of her legs stretched before her. "Seriously?"

She gave him a look. "You _know_ no one's here. We were just alone in the bull pen for thirty minutes."

"Hey, you don't know. Maybe someone's been hiding in here all along."

"Sure, Castle. Because all we want to do when we get off shift is hide in the gallery and spy on whatever hypothetical interrogation might happen in here."

Point for her. "Do you do a lot of these?" he asked. "Interrogations?"

"Me? No. Only the detectives. And to be honest, in Vice, so much of our work is done on the street, or undercover - trying to catch people in the act, you know. This room doesn't get used all that much."

"It's too bad," he remarked, his voice low, as he moved towards her. "It's a fine room."

She watched him, her eyes deep, the only light coming from the half-open door.

"So," he wondered aloud as he came close, towering above her since she was resting most of her weight on the table. "Working Vice isn't easy for you, is it? You're too pretty not to spend half your time pretending to be a hooker. Makes it hard to be taken seriously."

He wasn't sure she realized how much she had told him tonight - not all willingly, of course, but her silences and her pauses said volumes, if you were ready to listen. She had a very expressive voice.

She didn't say anything now, and he took that for agreement. "What would you do, if you could choose? I can't really see you working for Narcotics or Burglary..."

"I can't exactly afford to be picky, Castle."

"Ah, but you can dream, can't you? And your dream-" he paused, scrutinized her face, "your dream is to be Homicide. Solve your mom's case. Give people the closure you didn't get."

She kept silent, but he could see her throat work even in the dimness, could hear her sharp intake of air.

"Am I right, Kate?"

And then her hands were fists on his shirt, her body moving at an unnatural speed, and before he could do anything his butt had slammed into a chair, her face above him, her lips so close-

"You're not the one asking the questions here, M. Castle."

Oh crap.

Her voice was velvet over steel, her grip on him so tight, and his body's reaction was instantaneous. Fuck.

"So where were you last night, between the hours of ten and midnight?"

So hot. He couldn't believe it.

"I, uh..."

Her fingers clenched around his collar, the pressure almost painful, his stomach twisting with it. How he wanted her.

"I asked you a question, Castle."

Shit, he wanted to play, he really did, but seeing her so determined, so in charge - he couldn't think. "Home," he finally breathed out, going for the truth. "I was home, officer."

"Anyone can corroborate that?" she asked, and seriously, seriously, that word coming out of her mouth was just unbelievingly _filthy._ "Because it's not looking so good for you right now, Castle. You're still my main suspect in a murder investigation."

Murder, uh? He'd been right then.

"Ah, yeah. I was - I was with a woman."

She snorted, the sound so real that he almost felt insulted. "Of course you were. Where can I find her?"

"Uh, you might - you might have heard of her," he swallowed, wanted nothing more than for her to sit on his lap. Come on, Kate- "She's a cop, like you. Tall, dark hair, beautiful. And really really smart. And, wow, in bed-"

She didn't let him finish. At the word _bed_ her mouth was on his, wet and savage, and she was pressed against him, their hips flush, her legs on either side of him. He wrapped his arms around her, her waist so narrow, the arch of her back...

He rocked his hips into hers and she growled against his lips, that sexy, animal thing that just made him want to pin her to the table.

And why not?

Nobody else was here. And he could do this all night.

He could make her come until she cried for mercy.

* * *

The small of her back hit the edge of the interrogation table and sense flooded her at once, stilled the frenzy of her hands.

This was the precinct, her workplace - her safe place. It was bad enough that she'd thrown herself at him in the corridor downstairs, but here - in the Vice interrogation room?

No.

No, no, _no_-

"Castle," she breathed, felt more than she heard his responsive groan at her neck. "Castle, stop."

He had just managed to hoist her onto the table, and she had to grit her teeth against the lovely pressure at her lower belly even as he straightened, gave her an adorably confused look.

"Huh?"

"Stop," she repeated, couldn't think past the word; it was taking everything she had to keep her body from arching into his. "Not here," she grunted finally.

"You're the one who started it," he pointed out with a sexy lift of his eyebrow. But he stepped back without any further objection, and oh, she was grateful.

She wasn't sure she could have done the same for him.

Kate lay a trembling hand on the table, pushed herself upright as Castle redid the top buttons of his shirt. He ran a hand though his hair and her arousal flared again, a sharp burn at her insides.

"Let's go back to my place," she said, her need too strong to be tampered with.

His eyes met hers, a dark and wordless agreement.

"My car is outside," he said, and her surprise at his driving was overshadowed by her satisfaction at having a quick means of escape.

She readjusted her pants and then took a step into him, her heels making it easy to press a rough kiss into his mouth.

"Lead the way, then."

* * *

She drove; she knew the way to her apartment from the precinct, and he didn't.

And it was as good a way as any to keep her hands off him.

She was surprised at how well Castle behaved, actually. He had a palm spread on top of her thigh for the whole ride, but he didn't move it, didn't try anything kinky. Only the slow stroke of his thumb over her pants, hypnotizing.

She found a parking spot on the opposite side of the street, parallel parked with a skill that earned her an admiring comment from him; she shot him a dirty little smile.

"You like that, a woman who can drive? That make you hot, Castle?"

She could see his adam's apple work as she unbuckled her seat belt, his face painted in stark shadows by the streetlight.

"Anything you do makes me hot," he replied, his voice low, dangerous.

She laughed, opened her door. "Smooth, Mr. Writer. Anybody ever tell you you had a way with words?"

He huffed - amusement or indignation, she wasn't sure - and hastened to get out of the car, following her across the street. When she unlocked the door to her building, he was right behind her, as if he was afraid she wouldn't let him in - cute, but unnecessary.

There might not be a lot she was ready to admit where he was concerned, but she was honest enough with herself to at least recognize this-

She wanted him.

* * *

They seemed to have reached an unspoken agreement, maybe because of the way things had been at the precinct, so wild, no boundaries, no time to get any item of clothing off.

This time, they were taking it slow.

He let her undress him, mesmerized by the enjoyment she seemed to draw from it, all those little looks, all those touches that felt like hot brands against this skin. When his chest was bare, she fell to her knees in front of him and his breath caught, his throat suddenly too tight. He wasn't-

This wasn't the position he was most comfortable with. Either it was the submission it evoked, or because it was the way he'd found Meredith with her director, in his own home, when Alexis was only a tiny baby.

But he couldn't deny that seeing Kate work on his belt - her quick, nimble fingers, the way her eyes flicked up to him, framed by those dark, gorgeous eyelashes, her lips parted-

Yeah. Wow.

She was certainly worth trying to overcome his reluctance.

The belt hit the floor with a loud clatter, metallic buckle against hardwood, and then she undid his zipper, carefully, her gaze never leaving his. Oh, she was gorgeous.

She pushed his pants off his legs, her palms following the material to his ankles, nudging him to step out and getting rid of his socks in the process. Her hands made their way back up, brushing and teasing the sensitive skin at the back of his thighs, and he swallowed heavily when her fingers hooked at the waistband of his boxers.

"Kate," he said, his voice thick. He had to make sure-

She lifted the fabric, pulling it down, just a few inches, and she leaned in, pressed the flat of his tongue to the base of him. He shivered violently, had to gather the remains of his self-control so he wouldn't roll his hips.

"Kate, you don't have to do this," he whispered urgently, breathless, getting the words out while he still could.

She tilted her head back, pinning him with her eyes, dark, confident, triumphant eyes. She radiated power and sex, so glorious and beautiful that he wondered how he could have even thought-

"What if I want to," she dropped, voice husky and breathtaking.

She pushed his boxers down completely, ran her lips over his length before darting her tongue to the tip of his erection, and wrapping her warm, wet mouth around him.

Fuck.

He closed his eyes, fisted his hands so he wouldn't reach for her hair, her sleek, soft-looking hair.

She swirled her tongue around him, the pressure making him groan, his knees weakening by the time she leisurely released him.

"What if I love," she murmured, her breath so hot against his skin, and the words, the lovely words, "having you at my mercy? What if I want to drive you…crazy?"

Her hand cupped him and he whined, couldn't even care about the sound when she was - oh, oh - taking him into her mouth again. And this time, this time she sucked on him, still a slow, careful pace, but it didn't matter, didn't make any difference, he was going to-

"No," he rasped, his eyes opening again, his hips moving without his consent. "Not in your mouth, Kate, oh-"

She paused, her lips still surrounding him, gave him a look that was all question.

He couldn't tell her; he didn't want to. It was humiliating. The whole thing was. She shouldn't have to-

"I want to be inside you," he said instead, and he saw the hesitation on her face, like she knew there was a deeper story to it. But still she heeded him, letting go with a last, thorough lick that had him jerking, and she went to her feet again.

She was in her underwear (he'd deftly disposed of her clothes when they had gotten inside) and the lace of her mismatched purple bra grazed at his chest when she wrapped an arm around his neck, lifted on tiptoe to kiss him deeply.

He opened his mouth to her, trailed a hand down her back just to feel her tremble, his thumb along the line of her spine.

"Okay," she murmured into his lips, and she took a step back, another, brought him down to the bed with her.

* * *

He didn't want to sleep.

She didn't make him sleepy; she filled him with a strange, humming energy, the buzz of curiosity low in his veins.

The sheet was resting at her waist; he pushed it down so he could contemplate the exquisite lines of her body, the smooth skin and daring curves, the ripple of muscle that always stunned him.

So strong. She was so strong.

"I like your hipbones," he told her lazily, following the curve of one with his thumb.

Kate had her head propped on her hand, was watching him from the end of the bed, eyelids heavy with sleep, her face softer than he'd ever seen it.

"My hipbones," she echoed, mouth parting on a smile, and he could see the contained laughter dancing in her eyes. "Hell of a compliment, Castle. I must say, I think it's the first time I hear that one."

"I'm serious," he said, and he leaned in to brush his lips to said hipbone, worshiping the fine, taut skin. He had his hand on her abdomen, and he could feel the hitch in her breath.

"There's something beautiful about your hipbones. They stand out, not like you're anorexic or anything, just - just enough to catch the light, and this little space," he traced it with his fingertip, "is always in shadows because of it. Like a pool of darkness. Makes want to put my tongue to it, see what it tastes like."

He flicked his eyes back at her, saw the way arousal had crowded her eyes, her chest rising and falling faster than before. He wondered if he could make her come again before she fell asleep.

He pressed the flat of his tongue against the delicate space he had just described, his fingers curled around Kate's waist to keep her in place, and he felt the eager lift of her hips.

Oh, yeah. He could.

"See?" he smiled against her hip, grazed his teeth against the ridge of bone as he curled his hands around her thighs to shift her. "Beautiful."


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N:** I'm back from my travels! Thank you for all the wishes, and the wonderful reviews! They make me SO happy. And I had a lovely vacation :). On to the story?

* * *

Kate woke to an empty bed, a cold, grey morning.

She blinked in surprise, not so much at her aloneness than at her noticing, and yawned heavily, rolling over so she could get a visual on her alarm clock.

Five to six.

Her body had that tendency to rouse a little before her alarm, her own internal clock a well-oiled mechanism, but she couldn't always trust it. She rubbed a hand down her face, felt the fatigue in her muscles, her legs weary before she'd even put them to use.

All Castle's fault.

She grinned behind her fingers.

Okay, maybe it was her fault too. And it had been worth it.

Still, when she sat up and slid out of bed - the mutiny of her body had her wincing, wishing she could have gotten more sleep. She was in good physical shape; there was no reason at all she couldn't take a little...extra exercise.

But lack of sleep always made her sore, and Castle had kept her up until pretty late last night. Or this morning. Depending on how she chose to look at it.

She pushed herself through her routine, the hot pound of her shower doing wonders for her back, and gulped down two cups of coffee before she left her place.

Maybe today would be a quiet day.

* * *

It wasn't a quiet day; it wasn't a quiet week either.

Beckett got asked on a case that was really a large surveillance operation, trying to bust a trafficking ring of Eastern girls; almost all the Vice squad was on it, cops undercover in bars, in clubs, on the streets.

It sounded exciting, and it would definitely be good for her career, but in practice it meant standing twelve hours a day in a seedy corner of a sleazy street, freezing her ass off in her hooker clothes. When she dragged herself home at night, she was too exhausted to do anything but crawl into bed, sleep until she had to get up again.

She got a few texts from Castle, one of them asking if she was free for drinks, but she was so cold and cranky at the time that not even the thought of his mouth could make her answer with a positive. She told him about the case, though, and he seemed to understand, didn't ask her again.

But he didn't stop texting.

His messages came at the most random of times, no apparent logic to them; sometimes he would tell her about the crazy things he'd eaten for breakfast (that "s'morelet" seemed like a terrible idea), but most of the time, he'd ask her questions about her job. It went from _How many bad guys did you arrest today? _to,_ So what's your sexy hooker name this time?_ and she would never have admitted it out loud, but no matter how silly the texts, she was happy for the distraction.

For his interest.

It was something new to her. Kate Beckett had never wanted to be in the spotlight. She had never been someone who needed the attention of others to bloom, to exist; she was perfectly fine making her way on her own, doing her own thing.

But Richard Castle-

The way he looked at her, the intense blue of his eyes, like he was always trying to read her thoughts, guess how she was feeling? It got to her.

And she hadn't expected that. She didn't even understand it.

She just knew she liked the feeling.

Her phone chimed and Kate squirmed to retrieve it from the very tiny pocket of her very tight skirt. Honestly, she didn't know where Vice found their clothes, but they could have used the help of a stylist-

Huh, it was Castle again.

She was opening the text when she heard a car coming, the slow hum of the engine her only warning; Beckett snapped the phone shut and shoved it down her pocket again, swayed her hips as she took a step forward.

Oh, never mind. It was a Crown Vic, one of their own - and Detective Johnson was driving, she saw when he rolled down the window.

"Beckett, hey. Get in," he said, nodding towards the passenger seat.

"I'm supposed to watch this corner all day," she answered quietly, but even as she spoke she was already circling the car, opening the passenger door. Technically, Johnson was her superior - she was supposed to obey his orders.

And she was not exactly dying to spend one more day playing hooker.

"Not anymore," the detective said, starting the car again as she buckled her seatbelt. "There's been a break in the case, and we're ready to make a couple arrests. Might not go smoothly, so we need as many bodies as we can get."

Well, she was always up for some action.

"We stopping at the precinct first?" she wanted to know, hoping to get rid of the ridiculously fitted clothes. She didn't love her uniform, but right now even the prospect of the stiff fabric sounded like heaven to her ears.

Johnson shot her a quick, wry look before he pulled into traffic on 5th Avenue.

"You telling me you don't want to make an arrest in these clothes, Beckett?"

"Just don't wanna anyone distracted, you know. Might cause an accident."

Johnson chuckled - which, wow, was pretty big for him, probably the most emotion she'd ever heard him express - and he said, "Touché, officer."

They spent the rest of the ride in a comfortable silence, and Beckett couldn't help praying that the day she made detective, the day they gave her a partner, she would get on with that person half as well as she did with Detective Johnson.

* * *

The multiple arrests went as well as they could have hoped. Beckett even got a chance to shine when one of the suspects pulled out a gun that she was close enough to knock out of his hands; all in all, a pretty good day.

She just hadn't expected Montgomery to reward the team for their efforts by ordering them all to take the rest of the day off. And the next morning.

It was only four in the afternoon. What the hell was Kate supposed to do?

The rest of the Vice squad was pretty happy, of course, so she swallowed her objections and made her way out with them, not without a last longing look at the desk she shared with the other uniforms.

She could have caught up on her paperwork-

Oh, come on, Beckett.

She'd just spent four days standing in a cold street and doing next to _nothing_ - surely she could enjoy a little break from work. Surely she could find herself something to do that didn't involve pornography or prostitutes.

It was only in the subway, as she was waiting on the platform, that she remembered Castle's text. Shit, where was her phone? She remembered taking off the hooker clothes, but what had she done with-

Oh, jacket pocket. Good. Whew.

She really didn't want to go back to the precinct just for her stupid cell.

She flicked it open, screen lighting up, Castle's message still showing.

_I think I might need to kill off Clara Strike, have Derrick meet some sexy Vice cop instead. Any thoughts on that?_

She laughed out loud in the subway station, shaking her at him and ignoring the sideways looks she was getting. _You kill off Clara Strike, Castle, _she typed back,_ and I'm never having sex with you again._

The train got in, glided to a stop; Beckett stepped into the closest car, her fingers tight around the phone, waiting for the next chime. She didn't have to wait long.

_Never is a long time._

She bit her lip, smiling to herself, wondering if she could really have made good on that threat. He did have pretty amazing hands. And his mouth. And-

_It's your call_, she sent back.

A vibration against her palm. _What if poor Derrick needs a change?_

Kate rolled her eyes, her fingers flying over the tiny keys. _What Derrick needs is his soulmate._

_Soulmate, huh? That's a pretty strong word._

She shook her head again, couldn't help it - he was being silly. He was the one writing those characters; he knew exactly what they meant to each other.

_Any plans for tonight?_ she sent, deciding it was time to change the subject.

His answer was almost instantaneous. _Why, Kate, that sounds like an invitation._

She grinned, answered before she could talk herself out of it.

_Maybe it is. Bring the wine._

* * *

The panic didn't hit until a while later.

She was trying to find something to wear, agonizing in front of her closet, when she cast a look to her left and found her reflection in the mirror. Her hair was a mess, her body clad in black underwear that she had carefully picked, and-

What the hell was she doing?

Getting ready for a _date_?

Shit. Shit.

Kate had to force the air down her throat, a hand flying to her chest, and she slammed the door to her closet.

She couldn't do this.

What was she thinking?

Oh, god. He was so sweet, and the sex was so good, and she - she what? She'd been lulled into a false sense of security, into thinking she could do this, be like everybody else, be normal. Have a life.

She let herself sink onto her bed, breathless, her heart hammering in her chest, black crowding her vision. Crap, no, no, not this.

Just breathe, Beckett, just...slow down.

She tilted her head back, found the familiar crack in her ceiling, let her eyes, her attention focus on that. She bit on her lip and pushed back the anxiety, bit by bit, her hand fisted on the bedcover.

It didn't have to be a date, she told herself, relaxing forcibly. It could be anything she wanted it to be. She could dial it down.

She could-

Oh, actually.

She went to her feet carefully, took the couple steps that separated her from her underwear drawer, and started rummaging through it. If she still had that thing...

Ha. There it was, all wrinkled at the back of the drawer. Tag still on it, too. She'd never even used it, huh?

Kate took a long deep breath, bracing herself on the drawer, her fingers digging into the soft fabric. She could do this.

It would be fine.

* * *

Rick wasn't completely comfortable with leaving Alexis in the hands of his mother, but Martha had insisted that she hadn't seen her granddaughter in way too long, that she was perfectly capable of taking care of her for the night.

"It was only once, Richard," she had pleaded with him at the door, her voice as quiet as Martha Rodgers could make it. "Are you really going to hold this against me forever?"

So he had relented, trying to ignore his memory of her sprawled out on the couch, completely drunk, with a six-year-old Alexis asleep upstairs.

He loved his mother. He really did.

He just - he needed people he could trust around Alexis. And he wished she still belonged to that category.

True, it had only been this once. And although she loved a drink, Martha usually knew her limits, knew where to stop; he hadn't seen her smashed in at least a year. Maybe more.

It would all be fine.

He let out a long sigh, tried to push his worry out of his mind as he stepped into the elevator, pressed the button to the third floor. Where Kate lived.

Kate. The invitation had surprised him; she'd seemed more the impulsive sort, bringing him back to her place when she wanted him, wanted to finish what they'd started, and he...

He wasn't sure what this meant. She'd been very clear about she could give to him, and as taken, as entranced with her as he was, Rick wasn't sure he was ready for more either. She was so very young.

How could she know what she wanted?

He'd survived Meredith, although his pride had suffered, because by the time she'd cheated on him he was no longer under her spell. He'd been willing to try, to give their family a chance, but he wasn't mesmerized anymore when she walked into a room, wasn't made breathless by every look she threw at him.

But Kate-

She was no Meredith.

There was too much depth to her, too much heartache, too much mystery in those beautiful, changing eyes, and if he let himself fall for her? He was pretty sure she wouldn't be that easy to get over.

Somewhere in the course of his reflection, he'd reached her door. He felt the familiar surge of excitement as he knocked, his insides twisting with the prospect of seeing her, and he nervously switched the bottle of wine to his right hand.

There was a moment, then the garbled, indistinct sound of her voice - coming from the bedroom, probably, because otherwise he'd have been able to get the words.

The door opened finally, but only a crack, and he heard her say, "Who is it?"

Huh. "It's me. Castle."

It was kinda weird using his last name, but it also made him feel like James Bond a little bit. Which was so completely okay.

The crack widened, Kate still out of sight, and she said, "Come on in."

Okay then. He walked through the door, intrigued, and when his eyes found her he immediately understood why she'd been nervous about appearing on the threshold.

She-

Shit.

She was wearing lingerie. She was wearing-

His breath caught in his throat and he pushed the door closed, resting his back against the wood for balance. His fingers clenched on the wine. So _hot_-

She came forward, her body undulating in that flimsy, lacy excuse for a nightgown, the black a stark contrast to the cream of her skin, the roundness of her breasts perfectly cupped by the elegant bra, and it was all Rick could do not to throw himself at her.

It didn't really matter, anyway, because the next moment she was pressing herself against him, their chests flush as she lifted on tiptoe to run her lips over his jaw. He felt her long fingers close over the wine bottle, remove it from his grip, and some faraway part of his mind was grateful.

But the rest of him was stunned, absolutely stunned, when her voice came out as a rasp, dark and tantalizing. "You made me wait, Castle."

Holy shit.

"You didn't say the time. In your text. You didn't say-" Her lips cut off his pathetic babble, a soft touch of her tongue to the seam of his mouth, and she felt so moist and inviting that he could never have said no.

He parted his lips to her, felt the tentativeness under the seductive, confident exterior, and he was overwhelmed again by this woman, by the contradictions that seemed at the heart of her very being. She was hard and soft; she was sexy and innocent, vulnerable and fierce. He was an idiot if he'd ever thought he could stay away from her.

"Kate," he murmured into her mouth, and he splayed his palms over her abs, loving the way her slim waist fit into his palms.

She rolled her hips in response, her breath hot on his lips, the line of her smooth and wonderful against him. Was it his birthday and he didn't know?

"I've been dreaming about this all week," she confessed breathlessly, and one of her hands curled at his waist, her thumb sliding into his pants, taunting and branding him.

Oh, she'd missed him then?

Well. He had certainly missed _her_.

He spun them around, taking a second to shrug off his coat before he pinned her to the door, her legs spreading over his thighs, the heat of her skin burning even through his jeans. Oh, they'd done this before, yes, but he was a lot more in control now.

It was a lot more fun.

He nipped at her lower lip, his thumb at her throat, feeling the sharp hitch in her pulse, and he painted the arch of her neck with kisses, barely-there brushes that had her moaning at him.

"You're beautiful," he told her, pausing for a moment to admire the flutter of her lashes, the color in her cheeks, her red, open mouth.

Her eyes slowly slid open, regarded him, dark and promise-filled in the soft light of her apartment.

"Take me to bed, Castle."

* * *

She needed this.

She needed him in her bed, the responsive shudder of his abs under her fingertips, the way his hips rose when she bracketed them with her legs. Richard Castle at her mercy, his eyes a deep, smoky blue, her name a prayer on his lips.

Kate slowly lifted off him, arching her back, her fingers trailing at his sides; and then she glided back down, her mouth parting at the wonder of it, his slick hard length inside her, stretching and fulfilling, cleaving her.

"Oh," she breathed out, had to clench her teeth to keep the words from spilling out, how good he felt, how badly she'd ached for it.

Just this - the feel of their bodies together, the beautiful dance that didn't need words. This she could do.

It was the rest she couldn't handle. Asking him to dinner-

"Kate," he groaned, anchoring her to the present, his voice urgent and pleading.

He wanted her to move, didn't he? Instead she leaned forward, smirking, a hand over his heart as she found his mouth, ruthlessly took what was hers, his broken breath, the murmured words of adoration she couldn't even make sense of. If it was the last time-

She stroked inside with her tongue, went deep, trying to give him a taste of what he was giving her, the exquisite breach of her body, the dark heat at the deepest, most sensitive part of her.

He growled into her lips, his hips bucking under hers; his hands smoothed the line of her back, the flare of her ass, made her press harder into him.

She rolled her hips, oh so slowly, giving them both a chance to feel every tiny instant of it, and she sunk her teeth into his bottom lip, sharp, couldn't resist the onslaught of breathtaking sensation.

He made a wanting sound, a sob almost, and she satisfied his unspoken need for more, offered him another firm drive of her pelvis into his, both of them gasping into each other's mouths.

Her body was loose, thrumming with the contact, but her arousal skittered from one point to another, as if unable to make up its mind; she knew if she wanted release she was gonna have to work harder than this.

Kate sat up, a low moan ripping through her throat at the change of angle. She hadn't expected Castle to follow her but he did, pushing himself off the mattress with a strong arm, his mouth finding her breast; she closed her eyes at the pleasure, twisted her hips to take him even deeper.

Oh - oh that was - _so good_-

"Yeah?" he echoed, his breath at her collarbone, making her wonder if she'd spoken out loud. "Good for you?"

She clawed her hand on his shoulder as a reply, rode him faster, finding a rhythm that stoke the fire inside her, made her body catch flame; Castle's hands and mouth were everywhere, her ribs, her chest, her jaw, and she arched, desperate for it, already there, _almost_-

He pressed his teeth into her shoulder, palms finding her sides, stilling her for a split second, a pause in the frenzy as he inched back and met her eyes, smiled that incredibly sexy little grin. And then he slammed their hips together, pulling her down around him, the shock of it so good, so brutal that she came apart, her fingers clenching around his biceps, her head thrown back while her body gripped him, held him, never to let go again.


	13. Chapter 13

"I need a shower."

The words took a while to penetrate the blissful haze that was Rick's mind; by the time they did, Kate was already slipping out of the bedroom, clothes thrown over her arm, not a glance backwards.

He slowly braced himself on an elbow, wondering what that was about. They had the whole night spread out before them, right? He didn't have to go home, since his mother was watching over Alexis; he would just make a little phone call later. Just to check.

And Kate had invited him, so he'd assumed she had some time off. Maybe he was wrong.

He sure hadn't expected her to run off to the bathroom as soon as they were...done.

Trying to shrug off the silly anxiety that rose in his chest, Rick sat up, feeling exposed and alone in her bed. Well. Might as well get dressed, since she clearly didn't intend to spend the night in bed with him.

He grabbed his boxers from the floor, wriggled his hips into them, then looked around for his pants. He found one of his shoes, remembered the other one getting kicked under the bed; he knelt on the floor, stretched an arm out to retrieve it.

His fingers easily found the leather point of the shoe, bumped into something else - it felt like cardboard. Huh. Did Kate store stuff under her bed? Rick pulled both things towards him, curious.

It was a box. A standard storage box, that she'd probably bought and folded herself, white cardboard with red lines that might have been some sort of decoration. There was a space in front, where she should have labeled the contents, but it was blank - whatever was inside, Kate obviously didn't think that she could forget about it.

He cast a look towards the bathroom, but the water was still running, no sign of her coming back any time soon. And Rick wanted to know.

He pulled out the lid, slowly, letting himself enjoy the suspense. Maybe it was just baby pictures, but even so-

Oh. A folder. A thick, red folder, no inscription, no indication on it. He reached for it, flicking it open, was arrested by the picture on the first page.

Shit. Was that-

It was. _Johanna Beckett_, he read next to the heartbreaking snapshot, the woman's lifeless body crumpled against a dirty wall.

Holy crap. The _case file_? She had the case file of her own mother's murder?

Heart in his throat, he scanned the page, his mind recording the information effortlessly. January 9th, multiple stabbing, Washington Heights, attributed to gang violence. There was detail, of course, terrible, gory detail, and to think that Kate had seen this-

He flipped to the next page, _oh god, _the autopsy report, skipped to the statements of whatever witnesses the cops on the case had found. The quality wasn't amazing, the words a little blurry sometimes, and Rick realized that this wasn't the original file.

It wasn't even a copy. It was _- pictures. _Pictures of the file. Kate probably didn't have the right or the possibility to make a copy, couldn't get it out of the archives or wherever it was, so she had taken careful photos of every page, had had them printed.

Smart. And resourceful.

He came back to the first page, the summary, and started reading more attentively. Her mother had been a lawyer for a firm in town - he had heard that name mentioned before - and she'd been forty-eight when she'd been killed. Wait, no, forty-seven. She'd died before her birthday.

January 9th, 1999. Kate had been...nineteen. Nineteen years old.

God.

She must have been in college then, her life just starting, so many hopes and dreams, nothing written yet. Five years ago. Had she been a completely different person then? Had she been carefree and a little silly, with none of that grave knowledge that guarded her eyes?

He swallowed past the thick feeling in his mouth, tried to focus back on the file, escape the grief that was clawing at his heart.

It wasn't his, anyway. None of it was - the heartbreak, the murdered woman, Kate. She'd made it very clear that she didn't want a relationship with him, that she couldn't give him more than this, the occasional sex, the tentative friendship.

And he was fine with that. Wasn't he?

He trailed his fingers over the page of the autopsy report, hesitated. He should have put it all back into the box, pushed it under the bed before she could come back, but-

He was a successful crime novelist; he had money. He had means at his disposal that Kate probably didn't, connections even, like this forensic pathologist whom he'd met with several times when he was writing his first Storm novel, Dr. Clark Murray. If he asked Murray to take a look at the file-

"What are you doing?"

His head jerked up; Kate was standing at the door of her bedroom, her hair wet but wearing jeans and a sweater, an unfathomable look in her eyes. Uh-oh.

"I, um..." He looked down at himself, realized he was sitting on the floor in his underwear. Reading her mother's file. Great, Rick. "My shoe was under your bed and when I reached out-"

"You found a box and thought that you would snoop a little, go through my personal things? Is that it, Castle?"

Shit, shit. This wasn't good. So much latent anger under the apparent coldness of her voice.

"Kate, I just-"

She took the couple steps that separated them, came down on one knee and snatched the folder from him, her movements sharp as she dropped it back into the box, secured the lid into place again.

Then she lifted her eyes to him, and the fierce, burning look in them sent a shiver down his spine.

"This is none of your business," she hammered quietly, her jaw set, the vein in her neck pulsing. "You hear me, Castle? This is mine. My mother, my case. It's not fodder for your books, it's not a fiction that you can get enjoyment from. This is _my life._"

She was breaking his heart.

"And fucking me? Doesn't give you a right to it," she finished, jumping back to her feet.

_Fucking_? That was what she called it?

"Kate," he said, trying to ignore the sting of her last words. "I _know_ I don't have a right to it, I just thought...Maybe I could help." He got to his feet slowly, as if she were a wild animal he didn't want to spook. "You know I have money. I know people. If I put together a team, asked them to work on this, there's a good chance that..."

His voice trailed off when he saw the look on her face, hurt and defensive and completely furious.

"Did you not listen to a word I said?" she asked quietly, her voice thrumming with anger. "My _mother_, Castle. And you want to, what? Put the whole city, the CIA on it? You think your money is gonna solve that case?"

"Well, it sure could help-"

"Don't even," she cut him sharply, her teeth gritted, her eyes glittering.

He didn't know what to say. Wasn't that what she wanted, to catch her mother's murderer? Could she not see how much easier it would be with the resources he had to offer?

"Kate," he pleaded, touching his hand to her forearm.

She jerked him off. "For god's sake, Castle, I'm a _cop._ I've spent every spare moment of my time in the NYPD peering at that file, learning every little detail of it, and you think - you think if you hire people, new leads are going to magically appear out of nowhere? Let me tell you something: that's not going to happen."

"You don't know that-"

"The hell I don't know it!" she raised a defiant chin at him. "I'm _good._ You might not believe it, but I'm freaking _good _at what I do. And I'm going to make detective soon, and if _I _haven't been able to find a lead worth pursuing? Nobody will," she finished on a breath, her fingers clenched over the box. "Nobody wants this guy as bad as I do, Castle."

He parted his mouth, couldn't find words in the face of such passion, such despair.

"So thank you, but I don't need your help," she declared at last, her mouth firmly set. "I don't need your money. And I sure don't need your pity."

What? "This isn't about pity-"

"Oh, no? What is it then, Castle? My reward for sleeping with you? I get to have money thrown at my mother's case because I was so very good in bed?"

His stomach dropped, but he straightened his shoulders, indignation rising in his chest at the way she so easily dismissed his feelings. Why could she not understand that he just wanted to make things easier for her?

"Yeah, sure, Kate. That's what I do with every woman I sleep with, you know? Invite them into my home, drop by their work place with a cup of coffee, offer to help them solve their mother's murder. Damn it, you've seen right through me."

The sarcasm was so heavy in his voice; she paled, but didn't flinch.

"You need to go," she said, her voice blank, emotionless.

Was there even a way to get to her?

"I see," he dropped, utterly discouraged, suddenly ready to give in. He didn't understand her, and she clearly didn't understand him; he had no idea why he'd ever thought this could work.

She turned away, the box cradled in her arms, like a baby or a precious thing, and he quickly put his clothes back on, pants, shirt, shoes, almost tripped on his own feet in his haste to leave this place.

He'd been wrong; he couldn't help her. She wasn't even willing to help herself.

Kate was waiting in the living-room, near the door, her eyes like stone; the message was clear enough.

"I guess you don't want me to call you," he said quietly, proud that his voice didn't waver.

She made no answer.

"Kate," he sighed, wished there could have been a better ending to this.

She was so beautiful, even in her stubbornness, the dark sway of her hair against her pale face, the determined set of her jaw. He remembered the way she'd looked, shattering above him in bed, her mouth open and her eyes shut tight, and his heart ached.

"Please," he murmured, hating himself for it.

"Just go," she said, and her voice was strong, inflexible. "Do what's best, Castle. For both of us. Go."

He wanted to argue again; he wanted to fight with her. But they'd done that already, and no good had come of it.

Maybe she was right. Maybe he needed to leave, never look back, leave her alone with her ghosts. Rick rubbed a hand down his face, his shoulders sagging, and he turned away, stepped to the door.

His hand closed over the handle and he remembered that night, how desperate she'd been for him, no time to even get their clothes off - so needy yet so strong, the way she kept demanding things even as her body yielded against his...

She was wrong; she was wrong.

He spun back, propelled by something that was stronger than him, wouldn't let him stop even when she moved back, tried to skirt him. He put his hands around her neck, thumbs at her jaw, and he kissed her mouth, gentle but confident, one long, tender press of their lips.

"You're wrong, Kate," he told her, and at last he could see her armor cracking, the sparks of doubt in her eyes. "And I'm not sorry. I know you're a good cop. But you're biased; you're too close to this. And two minds are better than one."

She didn't say anything, just watched him in the dim light, and he couldn't tell what she was thinking at all. Still - he had to say this.

"I could love you, Kate. I could love you, and I could help you do this. If only you'd let me."

Her teeth were digging into her bottom lip, her eyes shimmering, and he stepped back, recognizing that now wasn't a good time to force her to make a decision.

"Think about it," he said, and then he turned and walked out, didn't look back.


	14. Chapter 14

The door of the loft closed with a soft thump, and Martha raised her eyes from the script she was reading. It was only eleven, and she'd expected her son to come home later than that.

Yet here he was, shrugging off his coat as he came towards her, his face tired, his shoulders slumped. The very picture of disheartenment.

"Well, darling. It looks like the night didn't exactly go your way."

He heaved a deep sigh and flopped onto the stool next to hers, a hand covering half of his face.

"Not exactly, no."

"Now, now, Richard. What happened? Did the girl try reading one of your books and realize you were no Shakespeare?"

"Oh, very funny, Mother," he said, narrowing his eyes, but Martha could hear a true disappointment in his voice that intrigued her. "No, actually," he went on, with a strange mixture of triumph and heartbreak. "She loves my books."

Hm. That was interesting.

"Well, what went wrong, then?" the actress asked, keeping her tone light and as indifferent as she could. "Seems like she was perfect for you."

Her son huffed, but his blue eyes lost their focus, his mouth coming up in a small, wistful smile. Seemed like whoever that mysterious woman was, he really was into her.

Martha felt equal parts thrilled by, and wary of the thought; Richard did have a history of choosing rather badly for himself.

She had no idea whom he got that terrible taste from.

"She kinda is," he murmured, talking to himself more than to her. "Not perfect, but..." His voice trailed off, his face thoughtful, seeing things she couldn't. Then he shook his head.

"I don't know, Mother." He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, groaned; but there was no way Martha would leave it alone now.

"You like her," she observed, her lips curling into a smile. "Admit it, kiddo."

He rested his elbows on the kitchen island, took a long breath before he turned uncertain eyes to her. "I do. I really do."

"Oh, no need to look so wretched, Richard. Come on. It's a good thing! Tell me, princess, now when did you last let your heart decide?" she sang with a pointed look.

That got a laugh out of him, at last.

"_Aladdin_, really?"

"Sometimes one has to go past Broadway musicals to find just the right song, darling. Besides, _Aladdin_ is a brilliant movie. Such good music, clever lines-"

"You know you're preaching to the choir, right?"

She smiled knowingly. "And you know you're not going to talk your way out of this one."

The corners of his mouth fell, but it wasn't the dramatic discouragement from before, only a more serious, measured concern.

"She's got...issues, Mother."

"So do you," Martha shot back, lifting an eyebrow.

He snorted a laugh. "Eh. Guess so."

"So what's really holding you back?" she asked, because she knew her son. There had to be more than just "issues".

He slid off the stool, and for a second the actress wondered if that was his way to signal an end to their conversation; but he only went to a cupboard, taking a pair of glasses out, and reached under the sink for some Scotch.

He poured them a small amount each, closed his fingers over one of the glasses.

"Nothing like Scotch to drown your sorrows, huh," she commented while taking a sip of her own drink.

He gave a dry chuckle. "I'll drink to that," he said, and he clinked their glasses together before knocking back his own.

Martha watched him in silence for a moment. There was only so far you could push him; he had to do the rest himself, make the conscious decision to share. She'd learned that long ago.

Her son could be such a stubborn thing.

"She's young," he admitted quietly after a little while. "She's…very young."

"How young?"

He twirled the glass in his hands. "Twenty-four."

She let the information sink in, examining its possible consequences. Twenty-four was young, true, but it wasn't an unbridgeable gap either - depending on the persons standing on either side of it.

"And?"

His blue eyes lifted to meet hers, a little startled. "Isn't that enough?"

"Enough to make you doubt, maybe," his mother replied. "Not enough to stop you. Am I wrong?'

He pursed his lips, set the glass down. "She's - in the middle of something."

"You mean, she has a boyfriend?"

"No!" He looked at her indignantly. "Mother. I wouldn't do that."

Martha raised her hands, surrender and apology both. "I'm sorry. It's just - what these words evoke for me. I should know better."

He made a low, forgiving sound in his throat. "She just has some personal stuff to deal with, and she's...made it very clear that she doesn't want me to get mixed up in it."

"Do _you_ want to get mixed up in it?"

He shrugged, some of that childlike, sulking look coming back to him.

The actress considered him. "What is she like?" she asked finally, curious.

Her son smiled, reluctant at first, but more and more genuine as he spoke. "She's...smart. And sexy. She can be really funny, too - you'd like her. She's got a very dry sense of humor." He tilted his head back, looking pensive. "She's very reserved, but at the same time there's - an innocence to her, an openness, when you catch her off guard. It's beautiful, really. She's beautiful."

Well. Martha pressed her lips together, had to swallow past the surprised emotion in her throat.

"Richard," she said, trying to be gentle, knowing she sounded as breathless as she felt. "Are you in love with her?"

He gave her a look, little boy caught, that she hadn't seen in many years - maybe not since he'd told her that Meredith was pregnant.

"I don't know, Mother," he said quietly, and even that was confession enough.

* * *

Lanie Parish stirred her cocktail with the colorful straw that came with it, watched the swirl of orange-red liquid. She'd ordered a Sex On The Beach - probably the only way she'd get any this week - and she gave a little sigh as she glanced up, flicked her eyes to the entrance of the bar. Still no sign of her friend.

It wasn't like Beckett to be late.

She took a sip of her drink and closed her eyes in pleasure, the sweet taste of the fruit masking for a moment the sharp tang of alcohol on her tongue.

Perfect.

"Sorry I'm late," a familiar voice said, and Lanie opened her eyes to see Kate Beckett sliding on the opposite side of the booth, her eyes weary, her hair tousled.

"Long day?"

"Yeah. Montgomery caught me as I was leaving, wanted to discuss my detective application. Ugh. I don't even want to talk about it."

Her friend nodded sympathetically. "What do you wanna drink?"

Kate bit her lip, grabbed the cocktail menu, throwing a look at the glass already on the table. "What are you having?"

"Sex On The Beach, baby. Feel free to order the same if you need it as badly as I do."

Kate remained suspiciously silent, her eyes going back to the list of drinks without so much as a comment, and Lanie tilted her head, suddenly interested.

"Something you're not telling me, girlfriend?"

Yup, that little press of her lips was the Beckett equivalent to a blush. Lanie knew.

Well, well, well.

"Honestly, if you're getting some and not even letting me know, you're not the friend I thought you were, Kate Beckett. You have any idea how long it's been since the last time I managed to take a guy home? When they're not repelled by the smell, they don't understand why I'd even want to do this job, and when I try not mentioning it-"

"Lanie. It's over, okay?" Kate cut her with a reluctant face. "It's - it wasn't anything. Or I would have told you."

"Oh, honey, don't even give me that. Like you'd ever tell me anything willingly. It's okay, you know; I don't mind having to pry information out of you. So I'm gonna order you a drink first, but I'm telling you, Beckett: after that, it's sharing time. Be ready."

Lanie caught a glimpse of a smile on her friend's mouth as she slipped out of the booth, and felt the warmth of pride unfurling in her chest. Kate Beckett didn't laugh nearly enough to the young ME's taste.

Oh, the girl knew how to party all right. Lanie had seen her dancing and flirting, had seen the way men drooled over Kate's legs and her smoky eyes - but the occasions were too few and far between, and Beckett was always so serious about everything, her life, the job.

It made Lanie hurt to see how her mother's death had sucked the youth out of her friend. Not that she'd known Kate Beckett before she'd come to work at the 12th, no, but still - the ME could tell.

The rare times Kate allowed herself to let go, relinquished some of that iron control, Lanie could see there was a lot more to her than the stubborn cop who stayed at the precinct after everybody had left, and worked herself ragged every day.

And she wished she wasn't the only one allowed to see past the Beckett shell.

* * *

Lanie returned moments later with a Screwdriver; Kate had confessed once that she was rather partial to vodka, and obviously the information had been stored away. She smiled and thanked her friend, the liquid sloshing a little as her fingers closed around the glass.

Lanie sat down again, lifted her glass and an eyebrow. "To strong, independent women," she toasted.

Kate chuckled. "To us."

She took a sip of the cocktail, slowly let it roll down her throat, knowing full well that this would be her last moment of quiet.

And indeed-

"So, our mysterious man," Lanie started with inquisitive eyes. "Where did you meet him?"

Ha. Interesting question.

"In a seedy club," Kate answered truthfully, just to see her friend's face. "Where I was working undercover."

Lanie looked more than a little doubtful. "Girl, I already don't like this story."

Beckett let out a brief laugh. "Don't worry. He's not - he's a writer. He was only there for...research purposes."

"Oh, honey. Don't tell me you bought that excuse."

"Well, you know. Seeing as I actually happen to have all of his books-"

Lanie choked on her drink. "You what? Wait a minute. Do _I _know the guy?"

Kate couldn't help her smile. "You just might. You might also have said he had a gift for the details of death-"

"Holy- you're sleeping with _Richard Castle?!_" Lanie's voice rose high enough to catch the attention of the nearest people; Kate gave her a look.

"And I'd like to keep it between us," she urged in quiet tones, feeling a blush creep up her neck.

Lanie stared at her for a moment, shook her head. "You've got to be kidding me."

"Why?" Kate curled her hand around her glass. "Can't believe a guy like him would fall for someone like me?"

"Oh, honey, please. Any normal, healthy man would be all over your skinny ass. I just can't believe you've been doing-" she lowered her voice "-Richard Castle, and you didn't see fit to _tell me._"

Beckett flicked her eyes down, half-shrugged. "It kinda...just happened."

"Kinda just happened? Kate."

What else was she supposed to say? _It was the anniversary of my mother's death and I needed a distraction?_

"O-kay," Lanie said in the face of her silence. "Well. How was it?"

Kate's eyes startled back up. "What?

"How was the-" her friend made a show of dropping her voice "-_sex_? Come on, girlfriend, you gotta give me something here. You can just say you slept with Richard Castle and then leave me hanging. Richard Castle! Isn't he like your favorite author or something?"

Yeah. Beckett sighed, relented. "It was...good. Really good."

Lanie rolled her eyes at her. "Could you possibly be any less specific?"

"Well, what do you want to know, Lanie?" Kate whispered, irritated. "That his hands are so talented I don't want him to ever take them off me? That his mouth is - some new kind of weapon? That it was the best sex I've ever had?"

Lanie grinned, Cheshire-cat style. "Something like that, yeah."

Great. Now Beckett's cheeks were burning. "Yeah, well. It was."

"So why are we speaking past tense here? Seems to me like you should hang on to that guy," her friend said with a graceful arch of her eyebrow.

Kate took a long sip of her cocktail, let the vodka spread its lovely warmth through her body.

"It's not...like that. I mean, yeah, he's fun, and..." she knitted her brow, trying to find the right words, "sort of, endearing - in his own way - but he's older, Lanie, and he's got a kid, and he's...in a different place than I am right now."

"You telling me it was a mistake, girl?"

A mistake? She remembered the adoring touch of Castle's fingers, the heated look in his eyes, and shook her head firmly. "No, not a mistake. Just - not meant to last."

Her friend gave her a shrewd look, her lips pursed into a smile.

"So how long _did _it last, exactly?"

Damn Lanie and her too-accurate questions.

"I don't know," Beckett lied.

"Kate Beckett."

Crap. Lanie wouldn't leave her alone, no matter what she said.

"Two weeks," Kate mumbled reluctantly. It seemed so ridiculously short - two weeks - and yet it was too long already.

"Two weeks," Lanie echoed, as if tasting the words in her mouth. "And how many times did you see each other?"

Lanie had missed her calling; she would have made a hell of a cop. "Five," Beckett admitted softly. No use stopping now.

Five times. She couldn't possibly miss him, could she?

The ME made a low, contemplative sound in her throat; it grated at Kate's nerves. "What?"

"Five times is definitely no mistake, honey. Five times is - you kept coming back for a reason. And you know what it is, whether or not you wanna admit it."

Yeah - the sex. But something kept Beckett from saying the word, from belittling Castle to a simple tool. He was more than that.

But she didn't-

"I don't have room for him in my life, Lanie," she found herself saying, using the truth as a shield.

Her friend shrugged. "Then _make_ it."

"It's not that simple-"

"Of course it is. Kate, you listen to me." Lanie leaned forward, her dark eyes serious and intent. "I'm not saying you should be in a relationship with the guy - hell, I don't even know him. But if you like him? If he makes you feel something different? Then yeah, sure. You should go for it."

"I can't-"

"Not-uh. I've heard all your excuses. And yes, maybe it's true, maybe you're not ready, maybe you should be devoting all of your time to the job. But maybe it's not, and you'll never find out if you don't try. I know that thing with your mom still haunts you-"

_That thing with her mom?_

"She was murdered, Lanie," Beckett spat out, felt it bounce about in her chest, all those jagged edges that would never come together again. "Murdered."

"I know she was, honey." A brown-skinned hand gently reached for Kate's, and she didn't have the strength to push it away, not when understanding poured out of her friend's eyes. "I know. But does that mean you never get to have a life again?"


	15. Chapter 15

Ridiculous.

It was ridiculous. He wasn't in love with Kate Beckett. He was... smitten, yes, maybe, and fascinated, definitely, but that didn't mean he was in love.

His mother was wrong.

He'd been smitten and fascinated before; Sophia Turner could attest to that. And as messy as his relationship with the CIA agent had been, as - electric, and shallow - he had never been in love with her.

Sophia. He wondered what she was doing right now; probably saving the world under a fake identity in some far-off country, like the real-life Sydney Bristow that she was.

He hadn't heard from her in over three years. It wasn't like he'd expected regular updates - of course not, he wasn't an idiot - but a measly text every once in a while, just to let him know she was still alive, hardly seemed like it would cost her her life.

Ah, well. She was Sophia Turner. For someone who'd made the choice of serving her country, who spent her time risking her own existence so that she could save others', she was surprisingly, shockingly self-absorbed.

And coming from him, that really meant something.

Rick sighed, and sank into the chair at his desk, opening his laptop. Gina kept harassing him about the new pages for Derrick Storm (twelve texts and four missed calls only this morning: soon she would come knocking at his door), but his mind steadily refused to work on his half-finished novel.

Not even Clara Strike could capture his attention, although Clara had long been a favorite of his.

He'd spent hours perfecting her character, using his knowledge of Sophia to make Clara a better person, softer, kinder, more attuned to the feelings of those who surrounded her. Every frustrating habit of Sophia's, every cutting remark, every thoughtless quip had been reworked, remodeled in a way that made Clara more humane, and soothed Rick's bruised ego.

In many ways, Agent Strike was Rick's perfect woman.

Until he'd met Kate Beckett.

And now his mind couldn't stop drawing endless sketches for a new character, a young Homicide detective, smart and savvy, who had to fend for herself and make her way through the all-masculine world of the NYPD, while trying to come to terms with the loss of her father - the father who had been shot. In a robbery, maybe. Rick wasn't sure yet.

He'd been wrong. He couldn't make her a part of the Storm novels; Kate Beckett deserved a book of her own, because she couldn't be anything but the main protagonist, fierce and wounded and striking as she was.

He wanted to write that book.

He stared for five more minutes at the open Storm doc, fingers hovering over the keys but failing to add a single word to it, and then he gave up, didn't let himself hesitate. He opened a blank document, not even bothering to name it, and started typing.

His hands were hardly fast enough to keep up with the relentless stream of ideas that poured out of him.

* * *

Beckett pressed the button of the coffee machine, watched the trickle of dark liquid slowly fill her cup. It was crap coffee, of course, but she needed it all the same; she'd spent a miserable night, Lanie's words circling over and over in her mind, refusing to leave her alone.

Damn it.

But Lanie didn't know. She didn't have the slightest idea what kind of man Rick Castle was, how exuberant and childlike and a real piece of work, too, with issues of his own, a _child _of his own. And Kate had never let her friend see exactly how miserable her life was, never called her when she woke up crying in the middle of the night, and had to go for a run at 4am just so she could get it out of her system.

It wasn't-

It wasn't a good idea.

She needed to think about something else. She needed a case, an arrest, even working a street corner would do - anything to keep her mind occupied.

She came out of the break room with her cup cradled in her palms, surveyed the bullpen as she took a sip of quickly-cooling coffee. Detective Johnson was glancing around, as if looking for back-up or-

"Beckett," he called, beckoning her closer.

She silently thanked her stars, made her way through the room while gulping down the rest of the coffee.

"I need you," Johnson said in that abrupt, cryptic way of his. Then he stalked off towards the elevator, clearly expecting her to follow; she only had time to grab her jacket before she followed, relief pounding in her chest.

Whatever it was, she hoped it would take all afternoon.

* * *

"Richard!"

There was a sharp series of knocks on his front door, so loud that he winced. How could a tiny thing like Gina make that much noise?

"Richard! Open the door!"

He found himself rolling his office chair away from the sound, as if she could somehow get to him through the door, the living-room, find him in the study where he was holed up.

He firmly believed in the existence of Gina's evil witch powers. Why she hadn't used them on him yet, he wasn't sure, but he was guaranteed to find out if he didn't get up and answer the door-

"Richard. Castle."

Jeez, she was even scarier than his mother. How did she know that he was here at all? Maybe he'd gone for a walk, maybe he'd had lunch with...someone. After all, what proof did she have, huh?

Silence.

Rick slowly rose from the chair, holding his breath. Had she given up?

The next sound was so completely unexpected that it took him a few seconds to recognize it. His space cowboy ringtone. Shit, he'd left his phone on the kitchen counter-

The hammering resumed on his door. "Richard Castle, I know you're in there!"

Witch.

He sighed and surrendered, stopped by the kitchen to grab his cell before he went to the door.

Deep breath. "Gina!" he greeted warmly as soon as she was in his line of sight, grinning at her as innocently as he could. "Sorry I didn't hear you before, I was-"

"Oh, cut the crap, Richard," she dropped coldly, waving his excuses away with her hand as she sneaked inside. "I know you've been avoiding me. I sent you twenty emails yesterday demanding the chapters you promised me-"

"Twenty? Really? Huh. I didn't realize it was that bad."

She rounded on him, her eyes threatening slits, a finger pointed at him (that seemed to be quite the fashion). "Don't you try and charm me. Need I remind you that you have a _contract_ with Black Pawn, and that you are bound to provide us with new material when we require it? Derrick Storm is a four-book deal, and it could be extended, if you weren't such a child and were able to make your deadlines every once in a while."

"What can I say? Being amazing takes time-"

"I want my chapters, Richard."

She was so uncompromising; there was just no way to reach an arrangement with her. He wondered if she was like this in every aspect of her life, could picture her in front of the movie theater, forcing her choice on whatever reckless man had been brave enough to go with her - the thought brought a smile to his lips.

"You think this is funny?" she asked icily, breaking his bubble.

He felt himself deflate. "No," he answered cautiously. "I don't. Look, Gina, I..."

"How much do you have?" she said, with the face of a woman who was tired of always asking the same questions.

Yeahh, that was the problem.

"Half a chapter?" he offered tentatively, lifting an enticing eyebrow.

Gina huffed at him, threw her hands up in irritation. "What on earth have you been doing? You were supposed to hand me those chapters last week, Richard. Last week. And you had two months to write them-"

"I came up with a new idea," he blurted out, immediately wanting to hit himself on the head for it. He wasn't even sure, and Kate would kill him. She would.

Gina rolled her eyes at him. "Of course. A new idea."

He felt vaguely insulted by her lack of interest. "Hey, it's a good one-"

"Yes, they're always good ones, aren't they? How hard is it for you to understand - before getting into something new, you _finish what you start._"

"That's a terribly boring way to look at it," he pointed out rebelliously.

"Well it's my way, Richard, and if you're not happy with it, there are lots of different publishing houses you could go to."

"I love Black Pawn," he exclaimed, shocked that she would even suggest it.

"Start showing it, then," she said with raised eyebrows. "Finish those chapters and send them to me."

Ugh, he hated the way she always made him feel guilty about it. "I will," he promised mournfully, burying his hands into his pockets.

"Good," Gina let out with satisfaction. She inspected him as if he were a horse about to run a race, and gave a little pat on his arm. "I knew you had it in you."

He wished she didn't have to be so triumphant about it.

He followed her back to the door, and when she was halfway there she turned back to him, something like hesitation in her eyes. He couldn't be sure; he'd never seen anything like it on her face before.

"This new idea of yours, is that why you're late with the chapters?"

Not exactly. "Yeah," he said, wondering if that would earn him points.

"Do you have anything to show for it?"

Ohh, that was a trick question. He did, but if he showed her the pages and she liked them - he hadn't even gotten a chance to talk to Kate...

Kate had made it clear she didn't want anything to do with him, though.

"I got a few chapters, yeah," he said, making a decision.

"Send them along when you email me the Storm ones," Gina commanded, her characteristic assurance tempered with something else. "And we can talk about them over dinner. Tomorrow?"

What?

"Uh, sure," Rick answered, caught unawares.

"Good," she said with a little nod, and then she was gone, leaving a trail of delicate perfume in her wake.

He stared at the door for a moment, unsure what had just happened.

Did he have a date with Gina Griffin?

* * *

The 12th precinct had gotten an anonymous tip about a strip-tease bar that apparently allowed for a little more than stripping; Johnson was supposed to check whether there was any truth to it, and it would look less suspicious if he had a girlfriend with him.

"Hope you don't mind playing that part," he announced nonchalantly, not taking his eyes off the road.

Kate couldn't help a tiny smile. With another cop, it might have been an attempt at getting into her pants, or a maneuver intended to throw her off; but she didn't think Johnson had had either of those things in mind.

He'd been looking for a woman to go with him, and honestly, she was glad he trusted her enough to pick her.

"No problem," she said. "But isn't it a little early to go to a strip club?"

"Website says they open at six," the detective said, smoothly avoiding a car that had stopped suddenly just in front of them. "And we need to change first. Not to offend you, Beckett, but your uniform kinda gives you out."

"Darn," she shot back without missing a beat. "It's the color, isn't it? I knew I should have ordered it in black."

Johnson made a muffled sound in his throat that she took to be a laugh, and he glanced at her once the car was stopped at the next red light. "Careful, officer. Better not let people see that you're smart _and _funny. They're envious enough as it is."

She gave him a sharp look, had to bite her tongue to keep herself from asking more.

What did she care if people were jealous, anyway? She was good. If Montgomery decided to make her a detective, _she _would know that it was only because of her merit. Didn't matter what the others thought, as long as she got what she wanted.

"You might think it's no big deal," the black man said quietly as if he'd read her thoughts, "but when you go in for an arrest, or when you're undercover, you wanna be able to trust your back-up, you know?"

"They're supposed to act professional whether or not they like me," Beckett replied, trying to keep the indignation out of her voice. She knew he was right - she'd seen how it was during the time she'd spent with Royce, where the loyalties lay, how some cops had a very peculiar idea of the job - but still, it disgusted her.

"Yeah. _Supposed_."

Johnson's tone was as even and relaxed as ever; he was stating this like he could have been reading the weather predictions, just as imperturbable. Kate clenched her teeth.

"How did you get them to trust you?"

The question was out before she could think it through; had she been the sort to blush, she would have when she realized how it sounded, the unspoken racism in the inquiry. "I didn't mean-" she said, trying to amend her words.

"Nothing wrong with speaking the truth," he replied smoothly. "We both know what it's like to be a part of a minority. You're a woman. I'm black. I guess, like me, you've accepted this fact long ago."

She gave a nod, relieved.

He remained silent as he parallel parked, brow knitted in concentration. Then, when he turned the engine off, he said, as naturally as if their conversation had been going on all this time, "I became the cool guy, officer. That's how I got them to accept me. I never reacted to any provocation, never talked back, never initiated a fight. When they realized their words couldn't get to me - they stopped. It took a while, but it earned me some respect, too. And now I'm a part of the 12th, just like they are."

He opened his door, nodded at a building across the street. "That's where I live. You're welcome to come up, if you want. I'll be quick, anyway. Just gonna change clothes."

"I can wait in the car," Kate said, glad for the chance to be alone. She didn't want to intrude on Johnson's personal space, no more than she would have wanted her apartment invaded.

"Okay," he said with a shrug, and shut the door.

She watched him jog across the street, this tall, quiet, muscular guy who had won the respect of his coworkers through his placidity.

Detective Johnson was an interesting man.


	16. Chapter 16

The problem with writing a book about Kate Beckett was that it made it so much harder to forget her. He hunted for the right word to depict that distinctive light in her eyes, the exact phrasing for the endless stretch of her legs; and when he finally moved away from his computer, well after midnight, he did so with the pale shine of her face impressed upon his eyelids.

His stomach growled loudly, the sound echoing in the stillness of his study.

Right, food. He needed food.

He'd eaten with Alexis, of course, but that was hours and hours ago, and now that his attention wasn't on writing anymore-

Yeah. He was hungry.

He went through his fridge for a midnight snack, hesitating between cheese and a slice of ham before he shrugged and got both things out. He grabbed an apple too, and settled at the kitchen counter, his mind immediately flying to Kate now that it was unoccupied.

He truly had no idea whether or not she'd call him. He thought his words had made her waver, if only for a few precious seconds; but he'd also spent enough time around her to know that she was stubborn, and determined.

_Enough time._

He huffed at his own choice of words. No, it had _not_ been enough time - it would never be enough time. If she never wanted to see him again, if he had to spend his whole life trying to get her right, guess her with his words-

Oh, well. He could do it, right? He had a wonderful daughter, a thriving career; he would learn to live without Kate Beckett, just like he'd learned to live without Meredith, without Sophia.

He was good at that. He had practice.

He barely even knew her, anyway. What was he thinking? That he could heal the dark, oozing wound of her mother's death, that they would all live happily ever after, a wonderful reunited family?

Good luck with that, Rick.

He hadn't even introduced her to Alexis, had he? It wasn't just Kate. He had issues too, abandonment issues, and he had a motherless daughter whose heart was too tender, too precious, to be gambled away.

He needed assurances, guarantees that no woman would ever be able to give.

He took a morose bite out of his apple, chewing slowly, and remembered the look in Kate's eyes when she'd told him to go, do what was best for the two of them.

_What was best. _How did she know-

He shook his head, _enough, enough of that, Rick_, and pushed his thoughts another way. But they wouldn't go far; and so he found himself thinking about the case instead, about that file he'd held in his hands too briefly.

He was suicidal, no doubt, but he still wanted to know more about it. Her mother's murder.

Unsolved case, killer never caught: it grated at his sense of a good ending, nudged endlessly at his curious mind. He knew what they said, that after twenty-four hours the leads got cold, that it became harder and harder to trace a crime back to the person who had perpetrated it. And after five years…

But still. He refused to believe there was nothing to be done.

There had to be something, a detail that had been overlooked, a lead that hadn't been pursued for want of means or money.

He wondered-

There was this cop he knew – well, he knew more than one, but this guy from the 54th he'd actually ridden along with, when he was sketching Derrick Storm's character. Clifford Haynes.

If Rick called him, asked for a favor...

Maybe he could get his hands on that file.

He didn't know exactly how the archives of the NYPD worked, but surely it could be done, right?

As a general rule, there weren't a lot of things money couldn't do. And he needed this. He needed an outlet for his fascination with Kate Beckett, since apparently she didn't want him.

He would solve that case; he would be her white knight, her hero, her secret benefactor.

And she never needed to know.

Because if she ever found out? He had absolutely no doubt that she would shoot him.

* * *

Kate zipped the black leather boot that came up to her knee, took a tentative step. The heel was definitely manageable.

She slipped on the second one and then stood up to take a look at herself in the full-length mirror of her bedroom.

She had put on tights, a skirt that was short without being indecent, a low-neck top and a sweater that she could take off once she was in the club. The outfit was sexy enough, but mostly unremarkable - exactly what she'd been aiming for.

She quickly touched up her make-up, reapplying eyeliner, and ruffled her hair with her fingers.

Good enough.

She grabbed her coat, the small purse where she'd fitted her gun and badge, and she made her way to the door. As she locked it behind her, she couldn't help a smile at the memory of Johnson when he'd come back down, wearing a leather jacket, a heavy gold chain, sunglasses even though it was winter and the sun had long set.

She had to admit, there were times when her job was a lot of fun.

Johnson was waiting in his car on the opposite side of the street; she hurried towards him, avoiding a few cars and earning herself a couple angry honks.

She opened the door, sliding into the passenger seat, feeling the detective's eyes on her. Her clothes must have passed the test, because he said nothing, only started the car with the hint of a grin at the corner of his mouth.

"Can't do anything without attracting attention, can you," he teased as he inserted them into traffic.

Beckett narrowed her eyes at him, smothering her own smile. "Oh, shut it, _detective_."

Johnson laughed, a silent thing that squeezed his eyes, made him look - a little bit - like a huge teddy bear.

Kate leaned into the headrest, pleased with herself, and with her temporary partner.

Yeah. She really did love her job.

* * *

When they reached the club, there was already a small line of people waiting to be let in.

Johnson and Beckett took place in the queue. The detective had put an arm around Beckett's waist; he was still taller than her by a few inches, despite the heels, which meant he could very conveniently whisper in her ear.

They quickly noticed that not everybody made it inside the club, but the reasons why some people were denied entrance weren't obvious at all. In fact, it seemed completely random.

Kate watched, her brow knitted, until they were a few feet away from the door. Johnson murmured to her, "Let's pretend we're drunk. That might do it."

Her only answer was to lean heavily on him, and curl her lips into a smile as she watched him from under half-closed lids. "Yeah?"

He pulled her closer with a grin, his lips flirting with her temple. "Think you can giggle for me?"

Beckett tapped her palm against his chest and laughed, an open-mouthed, delighted sound that she would never, in other circumstances, have allowed past her lips.

"Next," the bouncer said, and they moved forward, Johnson almost dragging Kate with him.

"IDs, please."

They made a show of not finding them, Beckett losing her balance once or twice as she looked into her purse, finally pulling the card out. The muscular man glanced at them, then nodded. "You can go in."

She felt the triumphant squeeze of the detective's hand at her waist, and they stepped into the club. The hallway was narrow, walls painted black but half-covered in posters of all sorts, old and new, some of them but shreds. They left their coats in the cloakroom, then made their way into the main room, diamond-shaped, with a dance floor at the center and the bar at their left.

The space in the middle was bracketed by four pedestals, upon which dancers moved their bodies to the music, slowly taking off items of clothes. They were all at different stages of undressing, but the closest to naked was a woman who seemed in her early twenties, only had her thong left on her.

If that could be called clothing.

Johnson led Beckett towards the bar, ordered drinks before he turned to her.

"According to the tip we got," he said as quietly as he could, nodding to a door at the right of the bar, "this leads to a corridor where they have rooms, dedicated to clients with... _special_ needs. Our job tonight is to find out whether or not it's true."

"How do you want to do that?" she said, flashing a smile to the bartender who was coming back with their glasses.

The detective pushed a bill onto the counter, took a sip of beer, his eyes surveying the room.

"Not sure how they work yet," he said thoughtfully. "Maybe they just come up to people who are getting a little too frisky, offer them a place-"

"We can easily test that theory," Kate remarked, not shying away from his gaze.

"Yeah?" Johnson said, eyeing her, calmly assessing. "You okay with that?"

"Sure," she shrugged. It was her job, right? And besides, he wasn't exactly the worst-looking guy on the planet. She was free, unattached, and if this got her a good word from Johnson regarding her promotion, then it would be even better.

But when they found themselves on the dance floor, the detective's hands under her sparkly top, their bodies rocking to the beat together, Beckett realized that it might not be as easy as she'd thought.

She wasn't afraid of getting physical; she had great control over herself, and she trusted her partner of the night. No, it wasn't that.

But-

When Johnson's lips skimmed the line of her neck, when he slid a leg between hers, his hand sneaking under her skirt, Kate was made breathless by the pang of longing in her gut.

She wanted him to be Castle.

She wanted it to be Castle's hands on her, his warm, smiling mouth, that way he had of whispering her name against her skin. She _ached_ for it.

Johnson kissed her and she found herself answering, opening her mouth to his, her eyes shut tight in her desire to make him into the man she so desperately needed, yearned for. Her blood sizzled in her veins, her heart pounded, her body lifted-

And then they were interrupted.

"Sir, M'am. I'm sorry, but we don't tolerate this kind of behavior in our club."

Kate bit her lip, hard, her heart swimming as her co-worker released her. They had somehow moved to a corner, and she was grateful, so grateful, for the support the wall provided. Oh, god.

Johnson was playing it cool, trying to coddle the man into offering on those hypothetical rooms, but his attempt at friendliness was brutally cut short when the guy beckoned two security men.

"Nick, Esteban, escort these people outside, please. They seem to have confused our establishment with some other place."

Despite the detective's hearty protests, he and Beckett were back in the street in no time, pushed outside none too gently. Esteban, or maybe it was Nick, slammed the door on them, and Johnson immediately dropped the drunken act.

"Damn it," he swore under his breath, running a hand through his non-existent hair.

After a moment of silent consideration, he turned to Beckett, his brow slightly knitted. "You okay?" he asked, taking her in.

She probably looked like a mess, could feel her hair sticking up, the goosebumps on her arms because they hadn't been given their coats back, but she nodded firmly, not quite trusting her voice.

She didn't want him to hear how worked up she was, and get the wrong idea. She herself could hardly believe that the thought of Rick Castle was enough to turn her into this - this needy, aroused thing.

"Just cold," she said at last, wrapping her arms around herself.

"Yeah, I'm gonna try and get our coats," Johnson said. "Don't think they'll let us back in, though. At least we gave it a shot," he added quietly to himself. Then, glancing at her: "You wait for me here?"

"Okay," she replied, actually relieved to see him walking away.

Jeez, she wasn't dating Castle.

He wasn't _anything_ to her.

So what the hell was all that guilt about?


	17. Chapter 17

The drive back was silent. Johnson was not a naturally chatty person - far from it - and although he'd said no more about their getting kicked out of the club, it felt like he was still somewhat brooding over it.

Beckett didn't mind. Although it had been a good half an hour since the bouncers had escorted them back to the door, her body was still buzzing, awake and ready, heat bubbling just under the surface. She had to keep digging her nails into her tights, seeking the skin underneath as a way to keep her head clear and focused.

She knew her street the moment Johnson turned the corner; she had her hand at the door handle, poised, eager for the peace and quiet of her own apartment.

But when he pulled over, he stopped the engine, and she was surprised enough to glance back at the detective, momentarily forgetting her wish for solitude.

"You did good tonight," he said quietly, hands still on the wheel.

"Thanks," she answered, even though she wouldn't have called their mission a success.

"You're a good cop," he added, and this time she was made distinctly uncomfortable - it wasn't like Johnson to state this sort of things, to speak what could be left unsaid.

She felt a _but_ coming-

"Do you want to go out for drinks, sometime?"

He met her eyes, his face honest and unapologetic, and the shock made her breathless, a pit opening under her feet.

He-

Oh.

Not what she'd expected.

She had to wrestle back her disappointment, the dawning realization that she'd wanted Johnson to like her for her professional competence, not because she was pretty, not because he was attracted to her.

"I'm-" Shit, whatever she said, she was screwed, right? Their tentative friendship would suffer, and she would lose the only real ally she had in Vice. Damn it.

"I'm sorry, I'm seeing someone," she answered, going for the phrase she thought would do the least damage to his pride. "But I'm..."

"Don't say _flattered_," he cut her off, but his voice was easy, laughing almost, and she sucked a relieved breath. "No worries, Beckett. You're a good-looking woman, a smart cop - I thought it was worth asking. Didn't know you had someone."

"It's very recent," she said without thinking, Castle's blue eyes at the back of her mind.

Johnson smiled, looking more serene than she'd have thought possible. "Well, good for ya. I hope it works out."

Was this guy for real? She bit into her lower lip, unsure what to say, or how to quiet her sudden need to hug him.

"Friends?" he said, holding out a hand.

It'd be stupid not to take it. "Friends," she echoed, her chest tight with gratitude, before she slid out of the car.

* * *

That night she woke up breathless, her skin on fire, calling for Castle's touch. Her insides were a painful knot, her fingers clenched on the sheets, the pound of her heart under her breast; she rolled onto her side, curled up, but it was forever until she could fall back asleep.

It happened more than once.

* * *

Rick ended the call, thoughtful, and rested his phone to his chin, elbows set on his desk.

He'd dropped Alexis at her school, then had come back here to write; but first, he'd called his contact at the 54th about that case file he found himself so mightily interested in.

To no avail.

Haynes hadn't flat out refused to help him, no; it was worse than that. The man, following the example of the character he had had a small part in creating, had _retired._

Of course, he still had contacts within the force, well-placed friends that he had offered to call on Rick's behalf, but it just - it didn't look so good from the writer's viewpoint.

Maybe it was just destiny, he mused, stretching his legs in front of him. Maybe fate was sending him a sign, telling him that he wasn't to meddle, wasn't to get involved in this.

Richard Castle believed in fate.

He also believed in closure.

One last attempt, he bargained with himself. One last attempt, and if nothing came out of it - then he would stop.

He dropped the phone to his desk, opened the drawer where he kept a notebook that held a list of his many contacts.

He knew he had Dr. Murray's number somewhere.

* * *

His phone vibrated on the desk and he was jerked out of his writing, the scene lingering around him like a dream, colors and sounds, his character's words echoing in his mind.

He typed the three words that would finish the sentence, then saved the document and eagerly reached for the device, hoping it was Murray calling him back. He hadn't managed to get a hold of the man; he'd left him a message, stayed as vague as he could - apparently, some of Kate's reserve about her mother's case had rubbed off on him.

It wasn't Murray, but a text from Gina.

_Pick you up at seven thirty._

He groaned, let his forehead hit his palm, shaking his head at his own weakness. Why the hell had he even agreed to this?

He glanced up over his fingers at the open page on the screen, the blinking cursor, his new character waiting on his next move.

He hadn't sent any of it to Gina yet. He'd emailed the chapters of Storm, written in a hurry, and probably pretty bad, but he'd kept Kate's fictional alter ego to himself.

_Nikki._

He didn't have her last name yet. He had a couple ideas, but none of them felt exactly right; it had taken him long enough to decide on Nikki.

He'd wanted something short, exotic and sexy, yes, but also strong - a name that was sharp and cutting. He liked Nikki because of its sound, and because it retained that harsh 'k' letter that was both in _Kate_ and _Beckett_.

Rick sighed, running a hand along the stubble on his jaw. Gina would grill him about his new idea tonight; he needed to have Nikki's full name by then, and probably the edited first three chapters.

Ugh, but he didn't want to edit. All he wanted to do was write.

He brushed a hand over the keyboard, enjoying the familiar contact, the endless possibilities permitted by the rather simple set of letters and punctuation.

Gina Griffin. It was hard to picture her out of her suit and heels, lounging at home, no make-up on; it was hard to picture her as a _human being._ And yet...there had to be a person under the tough exterior, the hard shell.

Kinda like with Kate. Except with Kate it was easier to see through the armor, because her kindness shone through at the most unexpected times; she was witty, and clever, but she was never spiteful. While Gina was more of an ice queen, cool and removed, who merely condescended to honor you with her presence.

So if Gina was ice, then Kate was-

Fire. A dancing flame, fascinating and mysterious, a heat he wanted to burn his fingers to.

Heat.

Nikki Heat.

Rick sat stunned in his chair, didn't move as a slow grin split his cheeks, and he let himself savor the delicious burn of triumph through his limbs.

Nikki Heat.

He had her name.

* * *

Beckett had come early to the precinct, hoping to escape the cloud of memories that hung upon her apartment, get a respite from Richard Castle's ghost.

A vain, futile hope.

When Detective Herdman showed up half an hour later, carrying a cup that came from the same shop where Castle had once bought coffee for Kate, it became obvious that nothing could be done.

No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't ban him from her thoughts.

It only got worse as the day went on. She was sent down to the archives, had to walk past the corridor where she had wrapped her legs around his hips, so desperate for him; her cheeks flamed and her chest tightened, the sharp burn of arousal in her gut. She had to pause briefly at the door of the archives room, close her eyes to gather herself.

Later she was sent out, along with a few other uniforms, to gather evidence from the house of a web designer who handled a pornographic site in his spare time. Of course, the man happened to have the complete collection of Castle's novels; the books stared at her from the shelf as she searched the room for incriminating photos, much like their author would have done himself if he'd been there.

He was going to drive her insane.

Once she was back at the precinct, she checked her email, then got called into the conference room by Detective Osbourne. He wanted her on a surveillance operation, a bar downtown that was owned by the leader of a well-established gang, known for its dealings in drugs and prostitution.

At least this time she got to play a client and not a scantily-dressed hooker.

The meeting ended around six; they were going to meet directly at the bar the next morning, start the surveillance then. Technically, Beckett was off duty now - she could have gone home, gotten some well-deserved rest before she had to work again.

Instead she lingered, found some paperwork she hadn't filed yet, worked on her application for promotion. Detective Beckett. It had such a nice ring to it; yet she knew that if she got the job now, if Montgomery gave it to her - people would talk.

Even more than they did now.

Didn't mean she wouldn't apply.

She went once again through the list of required paperwork, the letter she'd already, carefully written, the recommendations - shoot, she'd forgotten to ask Johnson about that. She glanced up, but he was gone; she should probably follow his lead.

Kate folded her documents and put them in the drawer that was half-hers, setting them neatly on the right side. Then she stood up, stretching her legs and shoulders, the uniform too stiff against her tired body, and she made her way to the elevator.

The two cops who were already inside made room for her, shuffling to the corners, and Beckett pressed the button for the ground floor. She was mentally inventorying her fridge when the doors slid open, and she stepped out without thinking, realized after an instant that she was on the Homicide floor.

She turned to get back on the lift, but before she could go any further her eyes had caught on a too-familiar set of shoulders, grey hair cropped short, that muscular back-

Her heart dropped.

"Royce?"

Forgetting about the elevator, Beckett stepped forward, her brow knitted in disbelief. He had retired - he'd said he would fly to some warm, tropical country, and she'd assumed he had, because he never answered any of her calls-

Royce had his back to her, but the cop he was talking to - Grayson, a squinty-eyed man she'd never liked - saw her coming. And the look on his face said enough to dissipate the last of her doubts.

Grayson said something and Mike turned, the weathered face she'd loved slowly revealed to her hungry eyes.

"Royce," she repeated softly, unexpected joy swirling in her gut. She ought to be mad, and the wound was there, a dull throb in her chest, but she'd missed him so much-

"Hey, kid," he said with a smile. It didn't quite reach his eyes, but she couldn't bring herself to care. The relief was staggering, the reality of him standing in front of her, safe and sound - not lying dead in a ditch like she'd sometimes let herself fear.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, wincing inwardly at the too-eager sound of her voice. "I thought you were in Hawaii or something."

He looked at her, silent for a second too long, and this time there was no avoiding the pang of realization, the cold spread of it in her veins.

He had never left, had he?

Beckett pressed her lips together, saw the regret flashing on his face, and averted her eyes.

"I see," she said, her voice clipped but at least, at least, steady.

Grayson had vanished, thank god, but she was fully aware that they were standing in the corridor, exposed, and for all she knew every eye in the Homicide bullpen could have been on them.

"Beckett," Royce said softly, moving closer.

She stepped back, trying to make it as inconspicuous as she could, just enough movement that he would understand.

He paused.

"Did you even leave the city?" she asked, finding his eyes again, her chin up, her heart barricaded against the hurt now.

She would never let him see; she'd never let any of them see.

He shook his head slowly, had the grace to look ashamed - not that it made any difference to her.

So he'd been avoiding her, then. All this time. He'd probably come back to the precinct before, and she'd never known - she never would have known if she hadn't run into him today.

"Kid," he murmured, and the sadness in his voice struck her, made her lift startled eyes to him. She didn't understand. Why the lies, why the long silence if it had only served to make them both miserable?

"I was just doing what's best for you," he answered her unspoken question, his voice low and apologetic. "Maybe you still can't see it, but you deserve better than me, Kate. I can't be your crutch; I was only ever going to drag you down, and you don't need that."

She took a long breath through her nose, ruthlessly suppressed the tears she could feel pushing at her throat. Not here, not now.

_What's best for you._

The exact same thing she'd told Castle.

Oh god, what had she done?

She sucked air on a gasp, canting away from Royce, not really seeing him anymore. Her mind was on a pair of blue eyes, Castle's voice so soft when he'd said...

_I could love you, Kate_.

Crap, crap.

"I need to go," she said suddenly, barely noticing the surprise on Royce's face. What time was it again - oh, seven thirty, right, right. A cab would take forever; she might as well take the subway...

She was tugged back suddenly, half turned in surprise; Royce's hand was at her elbow, stopping her, his brow creased with worry. She shook him off, neither brutal nor gentle, realizing that he was, if only partly, right. "I don't need you," she murmured, shocked to find it was true.

Royce paled, but there was nothing she could do, nothing she _wanted_ to do to soften the blow; this was his own doing.

He'd gotten what he wanted.

"Bye, Royce," she said, as soft as she could, and then she was turning away without a moment's hesitation, heading for the elevator, her quick steps in time to the wild beats of her heart.

Oh, please, please, let Castle be home.


	18. Chapter 18

Rick was running late. Everything seemed to be conspiring against him: Katrina had called about half an hour ago to say she couldn't make it, some family emergency that she had to attend to; he'd called his mother, who had said she would be here as soon as she could.

Which could mean hours, with her.

And as if that wasn't enough, Alexis, who was usually the sweetest, easiest-going child on Earth, hadn't given him a smile throughout dinner, and had complained about the pasta being overcooked.

He had told her - several times - that this thing with Gina wasn't a date, only a business meeting. They were supposed to talk about book projects, right?

But his daughter had taken a look at his tie and scrunched her little nose, disbelief all over her face. And now she was huddled on the couch, apparently reading, but exuding such misery that he heaved a deep sigh, paused in the middle of his frantic texting.

He went to the couch and squatted down in front of his child, patiently waiting until she glanced at him over the top of her book.

"Alexis, pumpkin."

She pressed her little mouth together, gave him one of those looks that tied him in knots inside, so serious and grave. He'd never seen a nine-year-old like her.

"I don't _have_ to go," he offered, wrapping his hand around the slim ankle, the white sock with the pink designs.

He truly didn't have to; to be honest, the more he thought about it, the more annoyed he was by the way Gina had done this, surprised him into a positive answer.

Only reason he hadn't backed out already was that, on the rare days when she wasn't a witch, they'd actually had interesting conversations. Gina was smart, had good taste in books - and there was no denying that she was a beautiful woman.

In a very different way from Kate.

"You're dressed already," Alexis pointed out, dropping the book onto her lap.

His heart sunk to see her resigned face. "Doesn't mean a thing. I can still call her and cancel. Tell her it's a family emergency," he said with a wink.

She hit his shoulder half-heartedly with her foot, but her lips curled up into something of a smile. "Dad, don't be stupid. You said you would go."

Ah, and he had better keep his word, had he not? Try and balance out all the times when Meredith had failed to do so.

Still-

"And I will go," Rick said, coming up with a new strategy. "As soon as you tell me what's bothering you."

Alexis huffed, reaching out to gather her long red hair, pulling it in a twist over her shoulder.

"I'm fine, Dad."

"Liar."

She rolled her eyes at him - not even ten years old, and she _rolled her eyes at him_. Jeez, he so wasn't looking forward to those teen years.

"It's just-"

She stopped, her gaze firmly fixed on her feet, but he knew he had her.

"It's just?"

"I don't really like Gina," she admitted finally, looking up at him.

"Oh?"

He was surprised, maybe not as much by the admission as he was by his daughter's calm confidence. She didn't usually let him know when she disliked someone (he had for a long time entertained the belief that his daughter was an angel who loved every soul on the planet), although there had been a few occasions recently when she had been bold enough to criticize her mother.

But Meredith was Meredith, and Gina was a completely different story - she had only been at the loft a couple times, and Alexis had accompanied him to a signing once or twice, tops. They barely knew each other.

"Why not?" he nudged, curious.

His daughter pressed her mouth together, obviously reluctant to tell. She shrugged, gave a brief shake of her head.

"No reason, really. Just a feeling."

"Another lie. You need to get better at that," he joked, trying to see through his kid.

Alexis sighed, her fingers tracing the edge of the book, so long already. She was growing up. His little girl.

She remained silent for a moment, and he wondered if he should push again; but just as he was opening his mouth to do so, she spoke.

"I don't know, just..." she curled a hand around her neck, something she did when she was embarrassed. "When she talks to me? She's always nice and all, but it's like - she's trying too hard? Like she wants to be perfect. Or she wants me to tell you she's perfect, I don't know."

Oh, wow. He hadn't really paid attention to Gina's interactions with his daughter, hadn't watched closely, but if the woman thought she could use his kid-

"And I don't like the way she acts with you," Alexis went on, unstoppable now. "Like you're her property or something. Just because you work with her company doesn't mean she can use you like that..."

"Alexis-"

"She reminds me of Mom sometimes. The way she orders you around, expects you to do what she says. But that's not okay-"

"Alexis, that's enough."

His daughter looked at him, her eyes wide, and she slowly closed her mouth.

Castle rubbed a hand to his eyebrow, unsure why he'd reacted so sharply, when he was the one who had asked the question.

"I'm sorry," he said, exactly at the same time as she did. They looked at each other, smiling, and the tension eased away.

He moved to sit next to her, putting an arm around her shoulders and tugging her into him.

"It's Gina's job to yell at me, sweetheart," he explained softly. "She would probably be a really nice person if I always gave her my chapters when I'm supposed to, if I accepted all the invitations my publicist gets me. But I don't. If I were in your classroom, I'd be the bad, lazy student the teacher always has to scold, you know?"

Amusement ghosted his daughter's face.

"So she has to yell at me. I don't make it easy for her. And you don't know her very well, pumpkin, so it's not nice to judge."

Alexis said nothing, but he could see the blush spreading over her collarbone.

"You asked-"

"I know I did," he said. "And I'm glad you told me. But sometimes you've got to give people the benefit of the doubt, you know? I'm not sure Gina is anything like your mom. And so what if she is?"

Alexis's blue eyes were - horrified. There was no other word for it.

Rick thought he had done a pretty terrible job as a parent, if that look on her face was how his kid felt about her mother.

"Your mom is a good person, Alexis," he insisted, his heart sinking. "I know she's not always around, and I know she can be a little forgetful, but she has a good heart. There's not an ounce of malice to her. I could do much worse-"

"I'm not saying she's a bad person," his daughter cut hurriedly, her cheeks a bright red now. "Of course not, Dad. You know I love Mom. It's just - she's not the best for you. You're..."

Alexis stopped, looking more uncomfortable than he'd ever seen her.

"I'm what?" he asked gently, bobbing his head at her.

She chewed on her lower lip before risking a glance to him. "You're different, when she's here. It's like all of a sudden, you're not the same person, and I...I don't like you as much then. I don't understand why you can't always be my Dad," she said quietly, her eyes deep in the soft glow of the lamp.

He took his hand in hers, lacing their fingers, and couldn't help remembering for a second how small her baby hands had been, how pink and tiny and perfect.

What would he do in ten years' time, when she was grown-up enough to leave him?

"I'm always your dad, baby girl," he said seriously, leaning in to press a kiss to her fiery hair. "Always."

"I know," she sighed, her head resting against his shoulder now. "With me you are. But sometimes there are people like Mom who make you act different, and...I'm scared Gina will be the same."

"Alexis, what did I tell you about being scared?"

He felt her smile against his shirt.

"That it's not a reason not to live your life."

"Exactly. I don't know any more than you do, pumpkin. I don't know if Gina will be like your mom, if she'll be right for me. That's why I have to try. Give it a shot. And then I'll know."

She let out a long sigh, her young body soft against his, and then squeezed his hand between hers.

"I understand," she said, her voice low but firm, and just then there was a knock on the front door, as if to punctuate the burst of pride in his chest.

Castle nudged his daughter with a smile.

"You wanna come with me, see who it is and say hi?"

She lifted her head and gave him a bright smile, the transformation from her earlier brooding self dazzling him a little.

"Yes," she answered, looking so pleased that he'd asked. She untangled herself from him and stood up eagerly, waiting on him to get the door.

He let her open it, struggling a little - like she always did - because it was so heavy. It was Gina standing behind it; the elegant black dress she was wearing under her coat crushed all his hopes for this not to be a date.

Damn.

His publisher flashed him a slow, confident smile, and stepped in, her eyes lowering to Castle's daughter.

"Well, hi there, Alexis," she said gently, and he found himself studying her, observing the way she looked at his daughter.

Hard to tell. He didn't think Gina was the sort to use Alexis in order to get to him, but she didn't seem overly comfortable with the girl either.

"Hi," Alexis said, suddenly shy, shuffling closer to him.

He realized it was his turn to speak, cleared his throat as he stepped close. "Hey, Gina. My um, babysitter had a emergency, so we're waiting for my mother to show up. She agreed to watch Alexis while we're gone."

"Oh," Gina said with a polished smile. "Well, she could always come with us, if needed-"

He felt his daughter inching closer to him, her fingers closing on the back of his pants, just above his knee. That was a _no._

"She's got school tomorrow," he said, warm but firm. "Her bedtime is at 8:30, and I doubt we'd make it back in time."

"There are some rules you can make exceptions to," his publisher suggested, tilting her head in what was probably a playful way. But Alexis was his daughter; _he _was the one who made that call. Or rather, his kid was.

"Alexis loves school," he answered, standing his ground, comforted by the truth in his statement. "She'd rather get a good night's sleep and be in shape tomorrow. Right, pumpkin?"

"Yes," Alexis said, her voice quiet but clearly audible.

He turned his head back to Gina, realized he was making her stand there, on the way into the living-room, the door still open behind them. _Where are your manners, Rick?_

"Can I take your coat?" he asked, stepping away from Alexis as he moved to close the door. But he was interrupted by his mother's voice, as cheerful as ever, coming from the corridor.

"Hold the door, I'm coming!"

He winced inwardly, wishing, not for the first time, that she could be a little less...dramatic. But of course not - she was Martha Rodgers, she performed on Broadway, and she couldn't do less than sweep into the room, her body poised as if she were about to throw herself into a Shakespearean monologue.

"Why, hello, hello," the actress exclaimed, taking in her surroundings. "Alexis, sweetheart, you look taller every time!" She opened her arms to her granddaughter, who readily hugged her, probably glad to hide her face from Gina.

"And Gina, hi," Martha added with a smile. "Haven't seen you around in a while."

"Yes, I've been busy," the blonde woman replied with an eyebrow raised at Rick. "Richard is not the only author I have to actively blackmail and threaten in order to obtain my pages."

"Ha! Take that, kiddo," his mother said, sounding much too amused for the writer's taste. She cast a sharp glance at him, assessment in her eyes, and he suddenly realized - he hadn't told her the name of the woman he was interested in. Oh god, if she thought it was Gina-

"My son has always needed a firm hand to direct him," Martha was going on, unaware of his desperate head shake. "I'm glad he seems to have found the perfect woman," she finished with a knowing look.

Oh, jeez.

Gina seemed a little surprised, but also pleased at the unsubtle hint.

"We should go," he declared hastily, impatient to put an end to the scene. Probably couldn't get much worse, but who knew, with his mother- "We have a reservation to make. Gina, you ready?"

She answered positively and he held out an arm for her, ignoring the unhappy look on his daughter's face. "Mother, I have my phone, so if you need anything..."

"Yes, yes," Martha interrupted with that suggestive smile that made him want to hide. "We're all set. You go on and have fun! Alexis and I will be just fine."

He gave one last goodnight kiss to his daughter, then led his date out of the door, relief spreading in his chest.

That was exactly why he'd called Katrina first. Katrina was a sweet, unassuming girl, who got on so well with Alexis...

"So," Gina said with a small smile as they got into the elevator, "What exactly have you told your mother?"

Oh no.

He held back a sigh, curved his lips into an approximate smile before he attempted an answer.

It was going to be a long night.

* * *

Fuck. There had been an accident on the subway system, someone who'd jumped or been pushed, it wasn't clear; but what _was_ clear was that their train wasn't moving, hadn't been moving for the last fifteen minutes, and if someone didn't give them information soon, Beckett was going to explode.

She gritted her teeth and forcibly relaxed her hold on the metal handle, turning her head to assess the situation. There were people grumbling, some looking pissed, some resigned to their fate - their car was pretty full, enough that Kate and a few others were left standing, but at least no one seemed on the verge of a panic attack.

They'd stopped in the middle of a tunnel, a station away from Kate's destination. Of course. Wouldn't have been fun otherwise.

She released the long breath she'd kept trapped in her lungs, ran a hand through her hair, trying to tame her frustration. She'd checked her phone, but she had no signal; probably a good thing. She'd have been tempted to text him if she had.

And then he would have told her he wasn't home, or maybe asked her not to drop by, or - something. Something that would have made her change her mind.

She didn't want to change her mind. She wanted to see him - she needed-

"The incident has now been sorted out," a disembodied voice announced through the speakers, followed by a chorus of relieved exclamations from the passengers. "Traffic is starting again, so we should be on our way in a few minutes. Thank you for waiting."

Kate closed her eyes for a second, _finally_, and she let her fingers clench once again over the handrail.

She would get there.

* * *

When she reached Castle's building, there was no trace of the doorman she'd seen the previous time. But Beckett remembered the code to get into the lobby, and then there was a woman coming out who held the second door open for her.

Kate thanked her with a smile, felt a rush of mixed excitement and apprehension as she made a beeline for the elevator, pressed the button to Castle's floor.

She undid the first button of her uniform, feeling the hot rush of blood just under her skin, and she pressed her cold fingers to her collarbone in an attempt to settle her overeager body.

It was ridiculous, really, what he did to her. Just the thought of him.

The lift opened smoothly on the last floor, and Kate stepped out, didn't let herself linger or hesitate. She went straight for his door, sucked in a shallow breath, and knocked.

She could hardly hear the sound over the pound of her heart.

The door opened after a moment, and Kate could hear a woman's voice trailing off, the words _wait for me_ hanging in the air as her own gaze landed on a girl about ten years old, with a long sweep of red hair and blue eyes that left no doubt as to her identity.

Oh, crap.

Oh crap crap _crap_-

"Alexis, who is it?" the voice asked, elegant and musical. It belonged - Kate could see it now - to a woman in a green and gold dress, her red hair in careful curls, who looked somewhere in her mid-fifties, and moved as if she were on a stage. Martha Rodgers, the actress.

Great. She'd gotten two for one: his daughter _and _his mother.

Alexis flicked her eyes at Kate, something like fear on her face, and she answered in a small voice, "It's - it's the police." And then she opened the door wider, her gaze squarely meeting Beckett's. "Did something happen to Dad?"

Oh god, no.

"No," Beckett replied immediately, a ghost of the old feeling clawing at her chest, cold dread and sinking despair. "_No. _Your dad is fine, as far as I know. I'm sure he's fine. I'm - I work with the NYPD - but I'm not here..." Wow, she sounded like an idiot. "I'm not on duty," she finished lamely, sharply aware of the older woman's eyes on her, their calculating blue.

Damn it, she was a cop. She couldn't be off-balanced by a ten-year-old and her grandmother.

Deep breaths, Kate.

"You must be Alexis," she told the girl with a smile, noting the fine features, the lovely little mouth. She didn't have much of Castle in her, except the eyes that were now looking at Kate in something like suspicion. "I'm friends with your dad," Beckett went on, didn't let herself think twice over the word. "He talks about you a lot."

She held out a hand, curious to see if the girl would take it. "I'm Kate."

Alexis seemed surprised at the move; she looked down from Kate's face to the proffered fingers, and back up.

Ultimately she took the outstretched hand, shook it tentatively, her palm soft and warm against Beckett's. "Dad never said anything about you," she answered, but there was no hostility in her voice, only curiosity.

"Ah, we only met a couple weeks ago," Kate explained, for lack of a better reason. Martha was hustling Alexis backward, inviting Beckett in with a sweep of her arm, a warm smile.

"You're here to see my son, I presume? He's out at the moment, but he should be back within the hour. Oh, you must wait for him," the red-haired woman insisted when Beckett hesitated at the threshold. "Really, dear, you've come all this way, and it's freezing outside. Alexis and I were just playing a little piano, you are most welcome to join us. I'm sure Richard will be delighted to see you."

There was a hint of knowledge behind those last words that Kate wasn't comfortable with, didn't like, but as Martha spoke she had led her inside, closed the door, taken off her jacket, and Beckett just...didn't know how to resist.

It _was_ cold, and it had been a long day; she'd been looking forward to seeing Castle, to his hands on her skin, and the warm, rich tones of his voice.

She wasn't ready to give it up. Give him up.

And she knew what would happen if she went home, how the impetus that had led her here would vanish, the excuses she would make for herself. She would change her mind; she knew that without a shadow of a doubt.

She didn't want to change her mind.

So she slowly moved into the living-room, cautious steps, stopping at the couch to look around. It was a strange feeling, the loft almost a different place without Castle in it; since he wasn't here to distract her, she could notice the books this time, the family photos, the way the room was arranged, spacious but warm at the same time.

A home.

Oh, and here was the piano Martha had mentioned, a gorgeous, massive instrument that sat in the corner, open and beckoning.

Kate hadn't played in years, had only taken classes for a short time before she decided that it wasn't for her, that she liked her father's guitar much more; still, the black and white keys glistened softly under the light, touched something in her.

"Would you like a drink, dear?"

Her head whipped to find Castle's mother standing at the kitchen island, an empty wine glass in her hand, a bottle in the other. Even from where Beckett was standing, she could tell just from the bottle that it was crazy-expensive wine; she opened her mouth to say _no, thank you,_ but Martha was already pouring.

"A little bit can't hurt you," the actress said with a wink. "And I must say, my son has excellent taste in wine."

She brought the glass to Kate, who took it with a strained smile, a little overwhelmed at the woman's friendliness, at the whole situation. Where the hell was Castle, anyway?

She was about to ask, but Alexis was faster than her.

"So how do you know my dad?" the girl inquired, her voice soft but determined as she leaned back against an armchair.

"Alexis, honey, it's not polite to ask-" Martha started, but Kate cut her off, actually glad for the question.

"I don't mind," she assured the older woman with a smile, before turning her eyes to Castle's daughter. "I met your dad in a bar where I was working undercover," she explained, careful to leave out the less pleasant details. "I work for the Vice department, so we handle all the illegal drinking, gambling-" here she hesitated, but Alexis smoothly injected, "Prostitution?"

Whoa. Um, okay.

"Yes, that too," Kate answered slowly, wondering at the girl's knowledge, the unflappable look in her big blue eyes. Did she read her father's novels?

"It's okay," Alexis said with a shrug, a small smile, as if she'd read Beckett's mind. "I read Dad's books, I know about all that stuff."

Oh, nine years old, huh? Kate remembered what it was to be nine, to want to look like a grown-up and impress her friends at school. Still, some of Castle's novels had a really dark feel to them-

"Your father doesn't let you read _all_ of his books," Martha intervened, with a pointed look to her granddaughter. "Only those he deems appropriate-"

"But when I'm twelve I can read them all," Alexis said defensively, her chin coming up. "Dad said," she added after a second, like she thought they wouldn't believe her.

Kate had to press her lips together and hold her smile in. She wasn't laughing at the girl, because she knew all too well how awkward that age was, stuck between childhood and adolescence, not really one nor the other. It was so hard to know where you stood.

"So, um, anyway," she said quickly, to dissipate the tension that lingered between the two members of the Castle family. "We met in a bar, where your father claimed he was doing _research_-"

A laugh bubbled out of Alexis, and her blue eyes sparkled. "Oh, he does that. A lot. Once he asked to be locked in his closet..."

"Alexis Castle," Martha warned, but her eyes were laughing too. "Do not scare our charming guest away."

Charming guest, huh? Not what most people would say of a police officer. Kate didn't quite trust the older woman, but she couldn't help being strangely flattered.

"So he was doing research at the bar," Alexis eagerly prompted when the story didn't start again.

"Right, yes. And he found out I was a cop, and he was...interested," Beckett said, slightly adapting the story as she went. "He had lots of questions for me."

"I bet he did," Martha piped up _sotto voce. _Kate ignored her, because she didn't want Alexis to pick up on her grandmother's hints, but she could feel a blush spreading at her collarbone. Damn.

"And that's how we became friends," she finished quickly, hoping to close the subject.

The red-haired girl looked like she had more questions, but Martha jumped in, maybe to make up for her tasteless remark.

"Come on, honey, let's not bother Kate with more questions. We were going to sing _Part Of Your World_, weren't we?"

The older woman moved to sit at the piano, her back straight, her head elegantly held as her fingers ran over the keys; but Alexis threw Kate a slightly panicked look, as if fearing that her dad's friend might judge her for singing Disney songs.

Beckett grinned and came closer, undoing another button of her uniform so she could breathe more easily.

"You wanna do this one together?" she offered, watching in pleasure as Alexis's face eased, her eyes widening a little. "Cause I know all the words."


	19. Chapter 19

He talked about Nikki Heat for all of dinner.

He couldn't help himself; Gina asked him a question and it all came tumbling out of his mouth, a flow that he wasn't able to stop, could barely even control. He hadn't completely realized until this moment just how many ideas he had, how many starts for a plot, how many sketches of characters; even as he spoke he could feel more coming to him, visions and lines of dialogue flooding his brain, and he had to occasionally stop and scribble them down on a napkin.

Nikki Heat. Just the sound on his lips filled him with an excitement he hadn't known in a long, long time - not even when he'd started writing Derrick Storm.

Derrick had been older than Nikki, an ex-cop hardened by the life he'd led, who didn't believe in anything or anyone except himself; the same sort of charm and fleeting morality as James Bond, Castle liked to think.

And that had been fun to write at first - he couldn't deny it. But after three novels, there were times when Rick found himself thoroughly depressed with the man, his dark vision of things, the way nothing ever seemed to surprise him.

Nikki would be different. Nikki would be fresh and new, and she'd be tough, yeah, and crazy good at her job, but she wouldn't be bitter.

She would do what was right, no matter the cost; she would never compromise, would never risk her integrity. She would believe, and guide him, show him how to be a better man - to rise from the shallowness that had been his life.

He would be Alexis's dad, always; he wouldn't stray if Nikki was there to keep an eye on him.

Some part of him knew it was wrong, to be fascinated by, obsessed with a fictional character, but-

It was still better than wanting a woman who didn't want him back.

Desserts were already on the table when he stopped speaking long enough to come back to himself, notice what was happening around him. Gina was picking at her plate, her eyes cast down, her mouth pressed together like she was holding back a sigh; he felt a flicker of guilt, until he remembered that she'd orchestrated the whole thing.

It was her fault she was here with him; sure, maybe it hadn't been very polite of him to keep going on and on about his new project, but she knew how he was. She probably had an idea what to expect when she'd invited him, right?

"So, um," he said, a little bashful, as he took a spoonful of the tiramisu he didn't even remember ordering. "What do you think?"

She lifted her brown eyes to him, cocked her head to the side, and he immediately regretted asking.

"Oh, so now you're asking for my opinion?"

"Well..."

"See, I'm - not sure you really need it, Richard. You seemed to be doing a wonderful job of congratulating yourself and generally ignoring me, so why don't you get back to that? And then you and I can both leave and pretend this disastrous date never happened."

Ouch. He opened his mouth - to say what, he had no idea - but she didn't give him a chance to speak.

"Let me ask you something, though. Is she real?"

What?

The look in Gina's eyes was much too penetrating. "Please. I know you, Rick. I know how you work. You like to stalk women in the name of research and then base characters on them. So this Nikki Heat person - I'm assuming she exists."

He would have liked to contradict her, but something on her face told him it wouldn't be wise.

"Let me give you a piece of advice, Richard. This woman, whoever she is? She's not for you. If she's half the person you've described, then she's way, way out of your league. And she'll see you for who you are, if she hasn't already - and then what will happen? You'll be heartbroken and tell me _you cannot keep writing this book_, and you'll need a new character. Right back where you started. So save yourself the trouble; break it off already."

He stared at her, couldn't believe she was actually saying those words to him. She didn't know anything about Kate - how could she even-

She rose gracefully from her chair, gathered her things quickly, and, as she pushed her blond curls back, gave him a look that had no kindness to it.

"Of course, I don't suppose you'll heed my advice. You never learn. So I want to see those pages, Rick. Least you can do is send them to me, after you spent the whole dinner singing Nikki Heat's praises."

She turned to leave and he found his voice again, rising from his chair in indignation.

"So that's it? You're just leaving me here? Because I spent too much time talking about my new idea for a book, because that wasn't your ideal first date? For god's sake, Gina, I'm a writer! That's what I do, I write, and you know how I get when I'm excited by a project. You _know _me. And still you're punishing me for it?"

Gina averted her eyes, mouth tightly pressed together, and there was a short silence before she said in a clipped voice, "I'm not leaving because all you did was talk about the book. Although that would be enough reason. I'm leaving because you're in love with someone else, Rick. You may be too stupid to see it, but I'm not stupid enough to put my heart on the line if yours is already taken."

He gaped at her, had no answer to that; he could only watch her sigh and shake her head at him, murmuring a "Goodnight" before she headed out.

The waiter was overtly watching him, but Rick ignored the younger man, sat down again, his body heavy against the wood of the chair.

He buried his head in his hands, fingers rubbing against his eyelids for a moment before he groaned, righted himself.

_Because you're in love with someone else._

It was obvious enough for both his mother and Gina to have picked up on it, then. Two women who had nothing in common, were barely even friendly with each other.

Why did he even try to fight it?

Her. Kate.

As if Gina's words had opened a dam inside him, his memories of her all came rushing back, the sound of his name in her mouth, the soft give of her flesh under his hands, the way she looked at him, her eyes dark under her eyelashes, secretive but so trusting, too; he had to hold back a moan, the need so strong, the lack of her a physical, painful thing.

He had to see her.

He would go to her place, he would-

do something. Convince her somehow. He could never be content with just Nikki; it was Kate he needed, not her fictional alter-ego, not just words on a page. Kate and her mysterious smiles, her unexpected laughs, the weighted, beautiful knowledge in her eyes.

He would do everything she wanted. He would drop her mother's case, never touch it again; he would stay away from the precinct, be careful not to tarnish her reputation.

As long as he had her, as long as she came to him at night-

anything, anything. Please, Kate.

* * *

"I should go to bed," Alexis sighed, her slim shoulders slumping, her voice lacking conviction.

She and Kate were plopped down on the couch, listening to Martha's more or less accurate renditions of musical songs; the current one was "Don't Rain On My Parade," and the performer's enthusiasm made up for the high notes that were somewhat shaky.

The actress stopped singing just long enough to tell her granddaughter, "Nonsense, darling. You can stay up as long as you want; you know I won't go telling your dad."

But that didn't seem to convince Alexis. The girl rested her head against the back of the couch, stifling a yawn, and her mouth twisted with disappointment.

"I thought Dad would be home earlier than this," she confessed, her tone too low to be picked up on by Martha, who was now busy vocalizing.

"Where _is _your dad?" Kate asked after a second of hesitation, finally seeing a chance to get her answer.

"On a_ date_," Alexis answered, sounding a little disdainful, a lot unhappy.

Kate's heart stilled in her chest.

A date?

"With Gina," the girl added, unaware of Beckett's shock. "He said it wasn't really a date, more like a business meeting, because they were going to talk about his books-" Kate's lungs suddenly expanded, drawing in some much-needed air, "-but he was all dressed up and wearing a tie and he never wears ties," Alexis concluded morosely, her eyes closed now.

Which was good, really, because Kate wasn't sure she could have concealed the dawning jealousy she felt at the thought of Richard Castle in a suit and tie, Richard Castle on a date with some other woman. What the hell?

_I could love you, Kate._

"Who's Gina?" she asked when she thought she had it under control, that her voice wouldn't quiver and give her away.

"Hm, his publisher," Alexis said in a sleepy voice. "Works for Black Pawn. I don't like her. She only pretends to be nice."

The piano paused in the background, the staccato of heels replacing the music notes as Martha circled the couch and found them, her inquisitive eyes stopping on Alexis first. Kate sucked in a long breath, tried to steady herself.

"Okay, bedtime for you, kiddo," Martha said gently, sitting down next to her granddaughter and snaking an arm around her shoulders to pull her up. "You'll have to walk though. Can't carry you anymore."

"S'okay," Alexis slurred, eyelids blinking off sleep as she stood up slowly. "Night, Kate. Thanks for singing with us."

"It was fun," Beckett answered, forcing a smile out. "Thanks for letting me. Sweet dreams, Alexis."

The girl started towards the stairs, and Martha's eyes followed her for a second. Kate used the time to push herself off the couch, her weary limbs protesting.

"I should go," she said, after a quick check of her father's watch. Wow. Hard to believe she'd stayed that long - and well, actually had fun, too.

The Castle family was...unexpected.

"_I_ think you should wait for my son," Martha opposed gently, her voice quieter, firmer than it had been until this moment. "He will be home any time now, and he would be very happy to see you, I'm sure."

Beckett bit into her lower lip, shaking her head. "I don't-"

Ugh, she just couldn't have this conversation now. And certainly not with Castle's _mother._

The actress curled a hand around Kate's elbow, such understanding in the gesture, in her blue eyes, that it hit Beckett like a punch to the gut. Shit, she'd forgotten what that felt like, a mother's touch, and she had to swallow hard against the riot of tears in her throat.

"I'm not telling you what to do, darling. I'm going to head upstairs, tuck Alexis in, and there's nothing I can do to stop you if you want to leave. But I hope you'll still be here when I come back down," Martha said, her smile encouraging.

Then she stepped back, leaving Kate alone in the middle of the living-room, hands hanging at her sides, her heart confused and hesitant, with absolutely no idea what to do.

* * *

He thought about calling her, but he didn't want to take any chances. After all, he had no idea how she'd react to his showing up.

Better have surprise on his side.

It was only quarter past nine, so he couldn't be sure she'd be home either, but she had been clear about what would happen to him if he came to the precinct uninvited again. He just had to hope she wasn't working on a case tonight. And that she'd gone home early.

Yeah. Not very likely.

Still, he had to give it a shot. He hailed a cab and gave the driver her address, then leaned back into the seat, his eyes on the city lights outside the window. Traffic wasn't so bad tonight; maybe he'd actually get there fast.

Oh, his mother. He had to call her, let her know-

He reached for his cell, sliding it out of his inside pocket, and realized he had a text waiting for him. From his mother. He opened it immediately, worried that something was wrong with Alexis - he never should have silenced that stupid phone to begin with - and was stunned by the two lines it contained.

_Your friend Kate's at the loft. Thought you might want to know._

His-

What?

He read it over and over, struggling to believe it, and then he bent forward, touched the driver's shoulder.

"Hey, um, could you turn back? I changed my mind; I'm going home. Broome Street."

The man grunted something that didn't sound very friendly, but did as he was told, taking his first chance to turn the car around. Castle slowly relaxed into his seat, exhilaration starting to replace the stunned incredulity, and he wiped his palms on his dress pants.

Kate was at the loft.

Kate.

His heart pounded.

* * *

He slid the key into the lock, holding his breath, and had a brief moment of panic when the door opened onto his silent, empty living-room, the lights low, no trace of his exuberant mother or of the woman who had been haunting his thoughts.

He stepped inside, nervous, kicking the door shut with his foot, his fingers working at the buttons of his coat even as his eyes roamed the space eagerly, the couch, the stairs, the open piano.

As he moved forward, the kitchen came into view, and oh-

Here she was. Standing at the windows with her back turned to him, the outside lights limning her slim figure, the smooth expanse of her legs in the police uniform.

She had to have heard him come in, unless she was deep in thought - but no, she was a cop. She knew he was there; if she hadn't turned to him yet, it was maybe that she didn't know what to say, or how to say it.

Rick hung his coat onto the back of a chair, his stomach twisting, somersaulting. Ridiculous, how intimidated he was by the mere silhouette of her, the graceful curve of her waist, the round edge of a shoulder.

Didn't matter how young she was, did it? Not when she could undo him with a slow blink of her eyes, not when she got to him deeper than any woman ever had.

He came closer, and closer, until their bodies were only a whisper away, the heat of her a palpable thing. Then he rested a hand at her bicep, light and unassuming, noticing that she was barefoot - and considerably shorter than him - when he bent over to press his lips to her cheek.

His eyes slid shut at the silky, delicious contact of her skin, his mouth lingering as he breathed in her scent. God, he'd missed her.

"Hi," he murmured, and although she didn't answer, he could feel the cant of her body into his, almost reluctant.

She said nothing at first, and when she did speak her voice was so quiet he could barely hear her.

"How was your date?"

He closed his eyes in dismay, inwardly cursing his mother. But it was his own fault, of course; he should have had more faith in her, should have had the spine to say _no _to Gina.

He just hoped the damage he'd caused wasn't beyond repair.

"Terrible," he admitted on a weak laugh because he owed her the truth, at least. "I kept talking about you, couldn't shut up. Made her run away."

Something like a chuckle escaped her, and finally, finally, she twirled to face him, her face so young in the soft light, a melange of wariness and hope painting her eyes.

"You did?"

"Uh-huh," he confirmed, his body tilting into hers, unable to resist. He splayed a palm at her neck and she didn't fight him, didn't voice any kind of protest, so he met her lips with his, a careful, exploratory kiss, filled with relish.

She tasted like wine, but behind that was loneliness, and doubt, and the eagerness of a long wait in the rise of her tongue. Her mouth had opened immediately under his, her hand sneaking under the collar of his dress shirt, and he could feel her body melting into his, warm and giving, so beautiful.

Seemed like she'd missed him just as much as he'd missed her.

"I was stupid, Kate," he whispered into her lips, forced into honesty by her too-ready forgiveness, the confident push of her mouth against his. "Should never have agreed to that date in the first place-"

"No you shouldn't," she agreed, her teeth digging into his lower lip, her hips coming up against his.

Shit, how was he supposed to think-

"I - it was - mostly about business-"

"I know, Alexis told me," she answered breathlessly, arching under his touch, the hand he'd ventured at her ribs.

He froze, his brain lurching to a sudden stop.

"Alexis?"

Kate drew back, her eyes meeting his, pools of darkness. "Yeah. I've been here for a while, Castle. Waiting for you."

She had?

"How long?" he asked, like it mattered - but he just, couldn't make sense of it.

She pulled her lip in between her teeth, that little move that was so very sexy, that he _had _to write into Nikki Heat. "Two hours, maybe," she said.

Two hours. Wow. Right. So she had-

She'd met his daughter.

He had no idea how he felt about that.

She watched him for a moment, her head tilted, the light catching in her hair, caressing the planes of her face. "Is that okay?" she murmured, a gentle stroke of her thumb over his abdomen.

He swallowed, tried to imagine Alexis and Kate together, to feel something else than a sinking jealousy.

He wished he'd been there. "Did you like her?" he asked at last, because he had to start somewhere.

Kate's mouth parted on a smile, a gorgeous smile that touched her eyes, too, illuminated her whole face. "I did," she said, her voice low and sensual, delicious. "We sang Disney songs together."

Oh, man.

"Are you kidding me?" he complained, closing his eyes at the whine in his own voice. "You trying to kill me with regret, Beckett?"

She pressed her lips to his chin, and he could feel her smile. "Maybe," she hummed. "Maybe that's what you deserve."

He wrapped his arms around her and dropped his nose to the crook of her neck, drowning in her sweet smell, couldn't even maintain a decent level of disappointment when she was in his arms, lithe and playful, so very real.

"I'm so glad you're here," he sighed, the truth rushing out of his lips before he could stop it.

She didn't answer him with words, but he could not mistake the arm she sneaked around his waist, the brush of a kiss to his earlobe, her soft thumb ghosting the hollow of his neck.

She was glad to be there too.


	20. Chapter 20

It should have scared her, how easily she fell into his arms, forgot the way Alexis's words had sliced into her heart only moments before.

It did scare her.

But in the circle of his embrace, her cheek resting against the collar of his shirt, with his familiar smell surrounding her, nothing really seemed to matter; she couldn't bring herself to move away, or call to mind any of the biting words she'd prepared for him.

His skin was warm under her palm, the drum of blood in his jugular a quiet lull, and Kate didn't feel the need to withdraw, or speak, or do anything.

She just wanted to stay like this.

After a moment, she felt Castle's mouth at her ear, not a kiss but a caress, the barest of touches as he traced her hairline, paused at her temple. Want surged through her, a pit opening inside, leaving her breathless; she pressed her lips shut, tried to contain it, and he unknowingly helped her by taking a tiny step back.

"So, um, not to break the mood or anything," he said, the deep rumble of his voice scratching gently at her heart. "But where exactly is my mother?"

She let out a single breath of laughter, the question so unexpected, and she saw in his eyes what the sound did to him, the dark arousal that drowned the rest - all that tenderness and curiosity gone in an instant.

Such power she had; it made it hard to concentrate and actually answer his question. "Ah, upstairs. She went to tuck Alexis in, not long before you showed up."

He hummed and cut his eyes to the stairs, looking thoughtful.

"So either Alexis asked for a bedtime story, or my mother is giving us time alone, which would be surprisingly sweet and selfless of her. I lean towards the first option."

"Actually," Kate said, chewing on her lip, "I'd vote for the other one. Alexis looked ready to fall asleep when she headed to bed."

And there was that look on his face again, surprise mixed with...longing? Yes, it was longing. Not jealousy, not quite, but close.

She hadn't realized he would be so miffed at having missed her and Alexis's first meeting, but of course - he liked to be in the middle of things, to know what was going on. Of course he would have wanted to witness that firsthand.

She felt a tinge of regret at having unwillingly cheated him out of it, and it pushed her onto her tiptoes, their mouths brushing softly. "You go upstairs, see if Alexis's still awake and talk to your mother," she murmured.

She gave him a nudge of her nose and then rocked back, smiled to see his closed eyes.

"I'll wait in your bedroom."

He grunted. "Cruel, Beckett. You can't say stuff like this and then expect me to be good-"

"Maybe I don't expect you to be good," she teased, hooking a finger under his belt.

He stole another kiss, that one deep and unforgiving, the nip of his teeth and the push of his tongue sparking lights behind her closed lids, leaving her giddy when he straightened up.

"You better still have that uniform on when I come back, Kate," he warned her, his eyes dark, intent. "Cause I want to be the one doing the undressing."

Well, shit.

And he called _her _cruel?

* * *

She waited in his study, the anticipation more delicious this way, a door standing between her and what she wanted. Castle's bed, Castle's mouth, Castle's-

Um, yeah.

She released a long, shaky breath and tried to step back, to retrieve some of her determination to talk; she knew they needed it, knew she had to - maybe not apologize, but...

Actually, yes, Kate. Apologize.

She'd done to him what Royce had done to her, assumed she knew what was best for him, made a unilateral decision when he should have had his say in it. And for that she _was_ sorry.

She'd been nervous about them already, whatever they were, and finding him poking his nose into her mother's case - it had been too much, more than she could handle, more than she was ready for.

Still.

She shouldn't have kicked him out the way she had. She realized now, with a clarity that scared her, the strength it must have taken him to turn back then, say those words to her - _I could love you_ - when all she'd done was insult him and imply that they were toxic to each other.

Kate pressed a hand to her mouth, leaning against his desk, the fingers of her left hand curling around the wooden edge.

She wasn't sure what she'd done to deserve that kind of faith, the stubborn light she'd seen shining in his eyes that night.

But maybe she was reading too much into it. After all, he had been on a date tonight, hadn't he? A date with his publisher, yeah, and that he claimed had gone awfully, but...

A date all the same.

Kate pushed herself off the desk and took a few steps, pausing in front of his open shelves, trying to distract herself by running her fingers over the spines of the books. He had a number of crime novels, of course, but there were also classics, Shakespeare, _Alice In Wonderland_, and completely unexpected things like an aged-looking edition of the _Canterbury Tales._

Richard Castle was full of surprises.

She released her bottom lip from the hold of her teeth, made a decision. She couldn't be mad at him for the date, not really, not when she'd pushed him away and told him they didn't belong together, told him she couldn't possibly give him more than what he already had.

But - she would ask about Gina, and what that date meant to him. Because she needed to know. It would have been so easy, so easy to just trust him and give in-

"Hey," a soft voice said, breaking off her thoughts, nearly making her jump.

Her head swiveled sharply, her eyes finding Castle's, who was standing in the doorway. He sure had a way of creeping in on her.

"Hey," she answered, her heart hammering in her chest; she couldn't be sure it was his sudden apparition, or just their proximity.

"Alexis was already asleep," he told her, although she hadn't asked. "My mother's going to sleep here tonight, in the guest bedroom."

Oh. She wasn't sure what to say to that; it wasn't like it was any of her business. This was his home - he did what he wanted with it.

"You okay?" he asked, coming closer, the gentle light of the study playing attractively on his face. She watched him, listening to the whisper of need in her blood, the way her body rose up to greet him, so impatient.

"Yeah," she rasped, had to clear her throat. "Just - thinking."

His eyes bore into hers, a deep, intense blue, and she had to remember to breathe. "Good or bad?"

He had that unkempt look to him, like he hadn't shaved in a couple days, his ruffled hair calling for her hands; Kate looked away, the desire to kiss him so strong, a bird longing to spring from her chest.

She had to speak, speak while she still could.

"Why...did you go on that date?"

She heard his sharp exhale, saw his hand move from the corner of her eye, shoot up to his hair. Embarrassed, then.

"Because...Gina set it up, and I was - too weak to say no, I guess. She's my publisher, and when she's not being a harpy (which, I'll admit, does not happen too often) we actually do sort of, get along. And," he added after a short hesitation, "I was looking for someone to talk to."

"About what?" Kate asked, meeting his eyes again, her curiosity momentarily dousing the embers of her jealousy.

"My, um...new project for a book," he said, his voice getting lower and lower.

She arched an eyebrow at him, but he was the one steadily avoiding her gaze now. Why did she have a bad feeling about this?

"New book, Castle?"

"Yeahh," he breathed out, sounding more and more uncomfortable. "I - I was going to tell you about it, Kate."

"Tell me about _what?_"

He finally lifted his head again, and his eyes were a strange mixture of excited and apologetic.

"It's about you," he said in a rush, words colliding into one another. "The book. It's about you."

Whoa. What?

She gaped at him, and he hastened to explain, "I mean, it's not like anybody will actually _know_ it's you. I'm not using your name or anything, and all the knowledge I have of you, everything you'll consent to share with me about the job, I'll rework and remodel until it sounds different enough-"

"What?" she murmured, stunned, none of it making sense. Everything she would share with him...?

"See, that character, Nikki - yeah, it's a pretty cool name, I know - she's going to be a cop, too, but she's going to be a young Homicide detective, struggling to make it in a man's world, waiting for a shot at solving her father's case..."

Beckett put up a hand, and he paused, giving her a few moments of blessed silence to gather her wits. Still, she couldn't-

"You're writing a book about me," she said, as much for him as for herself, listening to the sound of the words in the quiet of his study. Ridiculous.

"Yes," he said, and she could see his throat work as he swallowed, the nervous shift of his eyes. "I am."

"Why?" she asked, her disbelief too heavy not to be voiced.

But Castle looked happy for the question; he almost beamed, his body canting towards hers.

"Because you're fascinating, Kate. Because I haven't been able to stop thinking about you since the first moment I met you. Your story, the job, everything that makes you _you_ - I can't get enough of it. I need to know, I need to write - I can't help it. And I haven't felt like this in _so long, _you have no idea-"

"But...what about Storm?" she objected, half-flattered, half-spooked by his enthusiasm. "I mean, he and Clara-"

Rick waved his hand, looking like he couldn't care less. "Eh, I don't care about Storm anymore. Boring. I have to squeeze the chapters out of me, while you - you, Kate - you inspire me so much that I forget to eat, I don't want to sleep anymore - I just want to write. I just, I need to get the story out, get the story _right_..."

He stopped, not because he was out of words, it seemed, but rather because there too many of them coming at once; his face was alight, his eyes sparkling, his mouth half-open, and shit, she couldn't resist him.

"Show me," she commanded, her own voice thready, dark.

Fuck, it was _so _turning her on.

"What?" he asked, blinking slowly as she brought him out of his daze.

"Show me," she repeated, taking a small step, even though it meant she had to raise her chin to keep their eyes locked. "Show me what you have. My story."

He - he blushed? He was blushing. Oh god, he was adorable. "Ah, Kate. It's not - it's not edited or anything, I haven't even gone back to check..."

"Castle. Show me."

She needed to see; she wouldn't believe it until she could see it for herself.

He must have seen that in her face, her steel determination, because he sighed, and gave up with a slump of his shoulders. "It's not ready," he warned her as he circled around his desk, turned on his computer. "It's probably not any good yet; I wasn't planning on anyone reading it until..."

"Castle," she cut him off softly, resting a hand on his back as she followed him behind the desk. "I don't care. I need to see it."

He said no more, the slow hum of the computer filling the space between them, and Kate found her eyes engrossed by the screen, her heart rate picking up.

Her story.

Richard Castle was writing a book about her.

Holy crap.

* * *

It was awful.

Standing there while she read his first chapter, her face so serious and absorbed that he couldn't even get a hint as to what she thought - it was torture.

Rick paced, and paced, and when he couldn't take it anymore he walked out, headed to the kitchen for a much-needed drink.

When he came back, a whiskey glass cradled in his palm, she didn't even lift her eyes from the screen. She had a hand over her mouth, both elbows set on the desk, her left fingers playing with a strand of hair; she looked absolutely taken.

The screen cast a pale light over her face, her eyes a luminous green, framed by her dark lashes. Rick took a sip of whiskey as he watched her, his nerves soothed by the beauty of her, the sharp line of the jaw, the high cheekbones, the sensuous seam of her mouth.

Just looking at her made his fingers twitch, tinge with the need to touch or type; he couldn't be sure which.

He dropped his eyes to the smooth expanse of her neck, her delicate skin half in shadows, the imperceptible jut of her vein. He wanted to press a kiss there, feel her shiver against his lips, dart his tongue-

And then suddenly her eyes were on his, bright and intense and - oh, she knew exactly what he'd just been thinking about. Her face darkened for a second, but she pushed it back, flicking her eyes to the computer as if for support, her mouth parting in something that looked like a smile.

"Castle."

"Yeah?"

Oh wow, and the nervousness was back. He could feel his insides jumping and twisting, the pound of little horses galloping in his stomach, the air stale in his lungs.

"This is _good_," she told him, glancing at the screen again, as if unable to detach herself completely. "This is - wow. It's really, really good. It's - I don't know how you do it. It's me, and yet it's...not."

He held his breath, excitement building in his chest, and he approached the desk carefully, found a shelf to drop his half-empty whiskey on.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," she insisted, her eyes going over his words, a hand pressed to her chest now, as she was physically trying to contain her heart.

"I mean, it's not perfect yet, not by a long shot," he couldn't help blurting out. "And I'm even sure where the story's going, which is why the first chapter sounds a little weird, but-"

Before he could say one more word she had pushed herself off the chair, crossed the small space left between them, and silenced him with her mouth. The curl of her fingers at his neck, the eager press of her body into his; he surrendered joyously, opened his lips to her, his arms winding around her slender waist.

Kate kissed him with a passion that spoke to the baser part of him, blood seething in his veins as he responded in kind, rolling his hips against hers and sliding a knee between her legs; he felt the dig of her fingernails into his nape, the delicious burn of pain spurring him on.

"So," he panted between kisses, walking her backwards towards his bedroom, "you're okay with it?"

She growled an answer that sounded like a yes, and he had to be content with that, because then she opened her mouth at his neck, her teeth scraping, and he couldn't think anymore.

He could only feel, his world ending with the taut length of her, the breathless murmur of her voice in his ear.

Her heart pumped and pumped against his chest, an steady rhythm that urged him on, faster, and oh, _oh-_

He would write her a hundred books if this was her reaction to a mere chapter.


	21. Chapter 21

The fabric of her uniform was stiff under his fingers, a welcome contrast to the softness of the skin he revealed a little more with each button he undid.

"Kate," he murmured, overwhelmed, bending to press his lips to her collarbone, his thumb brushing against the cotton of her bra.

"Don't tease," she moaned, arching into his touch, her ribs sharp against his palm.

She was lying on his bed, her ass resting just over the edge; from where he stood, kneeling between her legs, he could only see the white angle of her chin, the slope of her cheek, the dark sweep of her lashes.

He worked another button open, and another, trailing his mouth over the offered skin, and listened to the secrets her body told, whispered to him through a shiver, a subtle undulation of her hips.

She was so beautiful, so beautiful.

He reached the last button and pushed her shirt apart, darted his tongue to her navel; she cried out, her voice raw in the darkness, her knees clamping around his torso. He hissed a laugh, the air choked out of him by her tight hold, and gently stroked his hands to her thighs, coaxing her into releasing him.

"Easy, Kate," he grinned, his voice low. "Gotta be conscious for what I wanna do to you."

She made a high-pitched sound, need and encouragement laced together, her body rising with it; he quieted her with brushes of his thumbs to her hipbones, his fingers sliding under her pants, opening her zipper.

She was wearing adorable panties, purple it seemed in the faint moonlight that bathed the room, with little white dots; they didn't match her bra, and he loved that, loved that everything she wore told him she hadn't planned to come to him tonight.

"Nice panties," he commented, couldn't quite keep his amusement out of his voice. He tugged her pants down and she helped him, lifted her ass so he could slide them off her legs; but she'd also propped herself on her elbows to do that, and was giving him a threatening look.

"Richard Castle, I swear, if you're making fun of me-"

"Never," he answered honestly, pulling the fabric past her feet and dropping it on the floor, pressing a gentle kiss to her ankle. "Never," he repeated, a murmur, as his mouth moved up the toned form of her leg.

He heard the breath she sucked in, saw her flop back onto the bed, and smiled around her skin. He could feel the hum of her blood, the steady pound of need against his lips, and he was delighted to find her in so deep, already so close.

She'd missed him, huh?

"Castle," she breathed out when his left hand slipped under the hem of her panties, caressed the so-sensitive flesh. She lifted the leg he wasn't busy with, hooked it at his shoulder, trying to draw him closer; he bit on her inside thigh in retaliation, her muffled cry spreading fire through his veins.

He soothed the spot with his tongue, moved up, his lips barely touching her. He breathed hot and deep against her skin, watched her shift and squirm against him, so desperate for him to get his mouth on her; and just when she was at the edge, that low whining in her throat that didn't seem to want to end, he pushed her panties aside and pressed the flat of his tongue to her.

She jerked as if she'd been burned, her heel digging into his back, a curse falling from her open, panting mouth. She had a hand fisted on his sheets, but he reached out for the other one, laced their fingers, her sharp grip jolting his insides.

"Kate," he whispered, couldn't help it, her name the only thing that could express his wonder, his gratitude at having her back.

He grazed her with his teeth, then gave a long, slow lick that had her thrumming against him, her fingers slick but so strong, a string of incoherent sounds tangling on her lips.

"Castle," she managed to gasp, her voice a thin thread, her hips bucking in his hold. "Castle, oh Castle-"

"I love the way you say my name," he confided into her skin, knowing she had to feel the vibrations of the words down to her very bones. "Have I told you that? Castle. It's so-" he stroked his tongue against her, hard and deliberate, "-very-" he opened his mouth, trying to encompass all of her, all of that needy flesh, "-hot."

And with that he sucked mercilessly, milked her even as she came, writhed against him, her body rising with a fierce energy that left him breathless, desperate, his own flesh knotted with arousal while hers trembled with release.

* * *

He gave her all of ten seconds to calm down, catch her breath, then pushed her farther up the bed; but Kate was ready now, was in control, even with her limbs still shivering with the aftermath of pleasure.

She drew her legs under her, shifting until her knees were carrying her weight, shrugged off her open shirt in the process. Then she rose up, savored the hooded look on Castle's face when she did so in just her underwear. The panties he had not even bothered to take off her stuck to her skin, damp and uncomfortable; without breaking eye contact, she slowly reached down, slid them off her legs.

Her bra was next; the soft rustle of the cotton hitting the hardwood floor seemed to rouse Castle from his contemplation. With a groan he moved forward, his hands feverish over the buttons of his shirt, fumbling. She had half a mind to let him struggle, and just watch, smirking at him, but it would have been counter-productive.

She needed to _touch _him.

Kate eased closer until her hands could curl over his, draw them to his sides as her mouth found his, a surprisingly soft caress, her lips brushing lightly over his before they parted, granted entrance to his tongue.

It was a deep, languid kiss, the heat slowly building between them; she moaned her approval, moved her hands to his buttons, working on getting him naked as he explored her mouth, his fingers nestling at her bare hip.

The last button popped open and she grinned against his lips, thoroughly pleased with herself, with the warm skin she could now run her palms over. The shirt landed on the floor with a whisper, a suggestive sound she wanted to recreate; she found his zipper, tugged it open, and slid a hand against the hard length of him.

Castle whined, actually whined, his hips coming up into her teasing touch, and he climbed onto the bed, stalling her efforts to get his pants off, an arm eagerly wrapping around her waist. His mouth was at her shoulder now, the most exquisite of tortures, and her eyes fluttered shut, her fingers still moving between them.

She bypassed the silky material of his boxers, caressed against the soft skin, the thick heat clouding her mind; she felt him jerk, the graze of teeth at her shoulder, and she tightened her grip, fitting him into her palm, fingertips dancing over the sensitive flesh.

Castle groaned, canting closer, his mouth skimming her ear; his chest brushed against her breasts, made her arch with need, seek more of the delicious touch.

Mmm. As much as she enjoyed playing his game, all that barely-there foreplay - there always came a moment when Kate wanted more.

Needed more.

She gave one last squeeze and released her grasp on him, taking pride in the soundless gasp that fell from his lips, and then she hooked a arm around his neck, used it as leverage to twirl him around. Her knee slid between his and she pushed him backward, the maneuver somewhat messy, bone meeting bone on a few occasions; but ultimately she got what she wanted.

Castle lying on his back, helpless, at her mercy.

He was watching her with dark eyes, lips parted into something of a grin; she would wipe it off his face.

She straddled his hips in one smooth move, leaned over to press a deep kiss to his mouth. Their teeth clashed in her haste, but his tongue was hot and impatient against hers, his taste heady on her lips, and their bodies met, finally, no mere graze this time but a firm press of their chests that had them both gasping.

Kate rocked her lower body against his, again, and again, grinding herself onto his erection, feeling the play of muscle under the fingers she skidded along his chest. She wanted him so bad; she could have come just from this, dry humping in his bed, when it was so easy to get their clothes off and do it for real.

She just didn't want to move away from him - she wanted - she-

"Kate," he grunted at her temple, and then he was rolling them over, all the pressure shifting, making her squirm and moan, her head thrown back, her eyes tightly shut.

She felt his mouth open at her breast, the taunting dart of his tongue, but just as fast as that had happened, the hot, arousing contact stopped, Castle removing himself completely. She opened her eyes, a hand reaching for him, a desperate sound in her throat.

Oh. He was getting his pants off, as quickly as he could, and smirking at her in the process, like he'd missed nothing of her reaction. She narrowed her eyes, then arched an eyebrow, turned the fingers that had been seeking him onto herself.

It wasn't quite what she wanted, but at this point anything would do, and at least she knew how to-

Castle, finally naked, dropped back onto her with a growl, his hand smacking hers away, his teeth capturing her bottom lip.

"Don't you dare," he threatened huskily, her whole body reacting to his voice, to the length of him over her.

"Not my fault you're taking so damn long," she hissed back, but her last word ended on a whimper because he'd started to slide inside her, so very, very slow.

She arched, wordless, yearning for more, all of him filling her, now, _now._

"Castle," she begged, her voice a mere whisper.

But it was enough. He slammed into her all the way, made her cry out with it, and when the burn of overwhelming sensation had somewhat receded, she was able to feel his fingers feathering at her temple, pushing back her sweat-slick hair.

"That what you want, Kate?" he murmured, his lips moving against her jaw. "Wanna feel me inside you? Wanna feel me-" he rocked his hips, that smooth glide out and back in, "-_move_ inside you?"

She would not sob. She would not sob.

"Yes," she managed to breathe out, as civilized a sound as she could make it. "Yes. Move."

And before he could get her begging, before he tease her any further, she dug her nails into his sides, spurred him on with her touch rather than her words. It worked; he gasped in surprise while his body gave in, his cock sinking deeper into her, and she thrust back, wrapped her legs around his hips, finding a rhythm that she hoped he couldn't resist.

And finally, finally-

He stopped _stopping_.


	22. Chapter 22

"The guys at the precinct will give me so much grief," she observed, her voice quiet and even in the dark bedroom, like she was talking about tomorrow's weather.

Rick turned his head to watch her, his heartbeat almost back to normal now, his body cooling fast between the fresh, clean sheets.

She was resting on her back, just like he was, the sharp line of her profile oriented up at the ceiling, a beam of moonlight glancing off her cheek. He rolled onto his side so he could see her better, the contrast of pale skin with dark hair, as his mind lazily processed her words.

_The guys at the precinct._

"Nikki Heat," he realized, finally catching on. He reached for her, couldn't help himself, traced the roundness of her shoulder with his index finger.

"I told you," he offered, his voice a rumble against the pillow. "Nobody needs to know it's you, Kate. If you don't want me to tell anyone..."

"They'll know anyway," she opposed, sounding so certain. "One of their wives will read it, her husband will make the connection...I know how it happens, Castle. Doesn't take long for everyone to be talking behind your back."

He drew his knees up, shivered, not sure it was from the cold or her words.

"Do you..." he hesitated, but he had to ask. "Would you rather I didn't write the book?"

She slowly turned her head to him, too much knowledge in the well of her eyes.

"Could you stop writing it?"

He winced. Maybe not stop writing, but-

"I could never show it to my publisher," he mused, his voice low. "Write it just for myself."

But Kate was shaking her head, shifting a little closer in the large bed.

"No," she said firmly. "I've seen it, Castle. It's good - you can't keep it to yourself."

"But the precinct-"

"I can deal. I'm used to that kind of stuff. A little more won't make a difference. I'm a woman in a man's world, remember?"

She was smirking at him in the half-light, and he felt the irresistible need to kiss her. Instead he moved his hand, brushing his thumb against the fullness of her lower lip.

"I don't want to make your life harder," he said softly, surprised to find how true it was. As excited as he was about Nikki, as impatient to get different opinions on it, he would still have slowed down, and tried to find a different way if Kate had demanded it.

She lifted a little, propping herself up on an elbow, and leaned in to brush her mouth to his.

"Too late for that," she told him, an eyebrow up, a smile dancing at the corner of her lips. "But thanks for the thought. It's very sweet."

Castle didn't like being called sweet. He breached the space between them and kissed her, a little harsh, unforgiving - his teeth digging into the soft flesh of her lip. She shook against him; it took him a second to realize she was laughing quietly into his kiss.

"No using _sweet_, then," she said, her eyes dancing, when he let her go. "I get it."

If the room had been any lighter, he'd have been afraid that she could see him blush. She studied him for a moment, the expression on her face growing from amused to thoughtful, and she tilted her head at him.

"Why did you and your ex-wife break up?"

While the question didn't exactly surprise him, he had to suppress the familiar wave of nausea at the image it evoked: his younger, more naive self, walking into his apartment, stumbling onto his wife and her director.

He didn't even consider lying to Kate. "Meredith cheated on me," he answered, gathering as much indifference as he could into his voice. "When Alexis was a baby. I came home to find her...otherwise engaged, shall we say. Wasn't in love with her enough at the time that it would break my heart, but it did kind of shatter my idea of the perfect family, you know?"

Kate was watching him with those dark eyes, no judgment, no pity, and he felt a surge of love for her, for the way she didn't feel the need to fill the silence with empty words.

"So. I filed for divorce then," he finished in a murmur. "Seemed like the right thing to do."

There was a soft touch at his wrist; he cut his eyes down to find Kate's hand against his, her thumb stroking gently.

"Where is she now?"

"Um, LA," he said after a second. "She's an actress, and apparently that's where the auditions are right now. She was in town a couple weeks ago, but she didn't stay long. Alexis barely got to see her."

Kate hummed, a neutral, imperceptible sound, and he quirked an eyebrow at her, curious as always to know what she thought.

"What?"

"Nothing," she dropped on a sigh, with a small shake of her head. "I just - wow. I can't imagine what that's like, having to be a dad all on your own, without having someone to...lean onto. Must be tough."

He half-shrugged, considering. "Not really. I mean, Meredith was never a great help where Alexis was concerned, so... Doesn't make such a big difference to me, not having her around. In fact, I'd rather _not_ have her around, because she can't be trusted. She'd never harm me or Alexis consciously, it's not that, but she's - flighty, irresponsible. She will take our daughter to Paris for lunch, and then forget to tell me about it."

A breath of laughter rolled off Kate's lips, but her budding smile froze when she saw the look on his face. "Wait. Seriously? She did that?"

"Uh-huh," he confirmed, keeping a firm leash on the anger that still arose whenever he thought of it. "Flew her away on a friend's private jet. She thought it would be, I quote, _a nice getaway._"

"Yeah, if she let you_ know_ about it," Kate said immediately, the indignation in her voice soothing his bruised daddy's heart.

He smiled to her, found himself surprisingly ready, for once, to let it go. "That's just who Meredith is. She basically... doesn't think about consequences. Or about much of anything, really."

"Wow," Kate breathed out, rolling onto her back, her face turned to the ceiling once again. She remained quiet for a moment, and he had to keep himself from asking, again, for what she meant.

He was so eager for anything from her, her thoughts, her approbation. It was ridiculous. He wasn't used to sharing this much of himself, of his daily life with Alexis; and that, coupled with his irresistible fascination with her, turned him into a hesitant, needy person that he wasn't sure he liked.

So he kept his mouth shut, listened to the rise and fall of her breathing as he waited on her.

"Do you think Alexis misses her?" she asked, almost timidly, after a long, long moment.

He'd almost fallen asleep, and had to yawn, blink a couple times to get with it again.

"I do," he answered, an inaudible grumble. He cleared his throat. "Yeah, I think she does. She never tells me, though. And I try - I try my best, you know? To be everything she needs, be her mom and dad together. All in one. But I...I know I'm not perfect."

Before his brain could register what was happening, Kate had rolled back onto her side, close enough that she could kiss him, her mouth pressing sweetly against his. He felt her fingers curling at her jaw, the tips wrapping around his ear, and he closed his eyes again.

"You're a good dad, Castle," she murmured against his lips, her words warm, velvet wrapping around his heart.

"How do you know," he whispered for the sheer pleasure of contradicting her, and also because a tiny, tiny part of him needed the reassurance of her voice.

She smiled around his mouth. "I'm going to ignore your very unsubtle way of fishing for compliments here, and answer you anyway. But that'll be the only time, Rick."

He huffed a laugh, delighted with her, with the sound of his name on her tongue.

"Because I met your daughter today," she said, her voice, her body, all of her so soft against him.

Oh, Kate.

He wrapped an arm around her waist and brought her closer, as close as they could get, his body seeking hers under the sheets even as he met her mouth, slid his tongue inside.

He didn't want to sleep anymore.

* * *

Much, much later, when she thought he was asleep next to her, Kate pressed her cheek to Castle's shoulder. He was big, but his skin was malleable, a welcoming island in the ocean of his bed; she wasn't used to share, really - she liked to have a whole bed to herself - but he made it...not so bad.

"I'm sorry," she murmured, feeling braver in the darkness, with her nose brushing at his shoulder blade.

But Castle suddenly shifted, surprising the hell out of her, his whole body moving until he could turn sleepy eyes in her direction. "Huh? For what?"

Oh.

"Thought you were asleep," she said, her heart hammering in her chest. Crap, that would teach her to turn all sentimental and stupid in his bed. "Didn't mean to wake you."

"Didn't wake me," he yawned. "'m awake." He blinked slowly, focusing on her, his eyebrows knitting. "Sorry for what?"

And of course, he wasn't going to let go.

_Honesty's the best policy_, she told herself sternly. But she really did hate to talk about her feelings.

"I shouldn't have said that stuff," she made herself admit out loud. "Asking you to do what was best for both of us. It was stupid. And arrogant."

He grunted, rubbing a hand to his eyebrow, and gave her a sleepy smile that was much too adorable for his own good.

"Hey, 's fine. I was snooping," he slurred, with something of a shrug. "And looking into your mother's case, which was honestly asking for trouble, so. We're good, Kate."

So easy. She didn't want him to let her off the hook like that.

"Still," she persisted, curling a hand at his waist, pressing into the warm, supple skin. "I...tend to do that. To shut people out, when they get too close."

She waited for a moment, made sure she had his attention, that his eyes were fully open and watching her, that beautiful ripple of awareness that she loved so much when he studied her.

A book. He was writing a book about her.

God.

Kate closed her eyes for a second, tried to find the words. But they were all fleeing her, struggling away, like a thousand tiny fish slipping through the too-wide net she'd cast.

With a frustrated groan she rolled away, her back meeting the coolness of the sheet, her fingers digging into the firm mattress. "I don't know how to-"

Explain. She'd never been good at explaining, never been good at understanding herself, let alone put words on what she felt. But this was important. This _mattered._

She pushed a long breath out, her chest falling.

"We were at the restaurant," she started, didn't know why exactly it was those words coming out. But it seemed like the story wanted to be told that way. "That night, my dad and I. We were supposed to eat at the restaurant, all three of us, because I was going back to college soon. Stanford. I was, home, because of Christmas and New Year's; my classes didn't actually start again until mid-January."

She paused, sucking in a breath, remembered the snow, how cold that winter had been, the fun she'd had, going ice-skating with her mom at Rockefeller Center.

"My mom didn't show," she said, carefully to keep her voice clear, even. "We assumed she'd been held back at work; she had a big case, had even spent a few nights at the office that same week, so we weren't...surprised. We tried calling her once, but she didn't answer, and we thought - maybe she'd meet us at home."

That was what she hated most about it, that she and her dad hadn't seen it coming at all. They'd eaten dinner, talked a little bit, even made a few jokes; Kate remembered that night so clearly, every second of it, and at no point at all had she been worried.

She hadn't thought _This is weird_. She hadn't had that bad feeling at the pit of her stomach that every book seemed to describe; there had been no concern to push away and ignore.

She'd just...assumed everything was fine.

Because she'd had no reason to believe otherwise.

"But when we went home," she said, her skin almost shivering from the memory of the cold winter night, seeing those flashing lights in front of their house. "The police was there. Detective Raglan was waiting for us, with that _I'm sorry for your loss_ look on his face, and I remember thinking, _You're not sorry at all_."

She could feel Castle hovering close, could tell he was wondering whether or not he could touch her, but all she could concentrate on was that night, the crime scene tape, her whole world shattered, a million pieces at her feet.

"He asked us questions. Where we'd been, who might have reasons for wanting to harm my mother... All we wanted was answers, but he only had questions, so many questions. It was forever until he told us where they'd found her. Stabbed in an alley, a place where she had no reason to be - and with her cash, her jewelry, everything. Nothing making sense."

"Kate," he murmured, and she felt the light caress of his fingers along her hipbone, his mouth at her shoulder.

She closed her eyes.

He had to see-

"I'm going to push you away," she told him, regret laced with determination in her voice. "I don't know when, or what will trigger it, but I am, Castle. I'm going to push you away because I can't _bear_ the thought of having to live through that again. That kind of pain, the emptiness, the darkness that tries to eat it you whole... I wouldn't survive it this time. I almost didn't," she finished on a breath, her eyes closed against the long hours spent staring at the ceiling, wondering why her heart beat so strong and steady while her mother's had stopped.

She felt him shift against her, his weight heavy as he leaned in, pressed his lips against her temple, her jaw, her cheek. Hot and wet. Was he crying?

He found her mouth, breathing her name against her skin, and she could taste the salt of tears under the heady, sleepy flavor of him. His chest pressed down on hers and she arched, her body suddenly desperate for some kind of release, a sense of peace and completion that always eluded her when she thought about her mother's case.

"I won't let you," he growled, the words heavy with promise as his palm closed over her breast. "You can push me away all you want, Kate, but I won't let you." She moaned at the contact, at the certainty in his voice, hope rising, opening like a flower in her chest.

"Can't get rid of me now," he promised, his mouth quirking into a grin against hers, and she rose up into his touch, needy and breathless, her whole being aching for him.

Oh, she hoped he was right.


	23. Chapter 23

Something was ringing. Somewhere.

Rick groaned, buried his face deeper into the pillow.

No. No way he was getting up now. Too early. Sleep. Yeah. Sleep.

The sharp, high-pitched sound stopped and he sighed in gratitude, his whole body relaxing into the mattress.

Mmm. Sleep.

* * *

Kate stood at the foot of his bed, dressed and ready; and yet she wavered. Normally she would have left without a second's hesitation - he looked so peaceful, so deeply asleep, only a third of his face emerging from the wrinkled pillow. There was no point in waking him.

But it didn't feel right to leave without saying anything.

The night they'd shared, the secrets whispered against each other's skin... The closest thing she could remember was the sleepovers at her friends' houses, which involved practically no sleep at all, but a lot of giggling stifled against the pillow, and that little traffic of secrets - _I'll tell you if you tell me._

Except they hadn't been real secrets then, only blushing admissions of a crush on Tom or Danny. Such innocent, harmless confidences.

What she and Castle had shared, though-

She couldn't remember the last time she'd given away so much of herself. And he'd made it okay, had opened up in return, and she felt so...hopeful.

So unlike herself.

Kate circled around the bed and knelt at his side, felt her mouth quirk into a smile at the sight of his sleep-slack face.

She smoothed her thumb over the corner of his eyebrow, leaned in to ghost her lips along his cheekbone.

"Castle," she breathed out.

No reaction.

Kate pressed her lips together, then carded her fingers through his hair, gently massaging his skull. He grunted softly, almost like the purr of a cat, his head orienting into her touch. His eye slowly slitted open, the color undefined in the surrounding darkness, and his mouth curled up when he caught sight of her.

"Hey," he mumbled, sounding drowsy and oh, so happy.

Kate's heart stumbled in her chest. "Hey," she said back, brushing her fingers to his cheek. "I gotta go, Castle, if I don't want to be late for work."

He twisted his neck, just enough that he could press a light kiss to the knuckle of her pinky, and the heat rolled through her without warning, that faint tingle immediately lighting her ablaze.

She didn't move, stayed where she was, riding the wave of arousal with her teeth clenched, praying that he wouldn't notice. Jeez, she was ridiculous.

Thank god, he was too out of it, the bedroom too dark for her blush to be obvious.

"Work," Castle sighed against her hand, his head dropping back onto the pillow. "'kay. You go. Kick ass. I'll be here, sleeping."

She chuckled, his goofiness shaking out the last of her discomfort, and felt confident enough to graze his jaw with her teeth.

"You do that," she murmured against his ear, letting him feel her smile.

He whined, sloppily reached out for her; but by the time his hand swept the place she'd been, Beckett was long gone.

"See ya, Castle," she threw lightly as she passed the door, casting one last look over her shoulder.

She saw the indistinct form of him under the covers, the unmoving peak that was the curve of his shoulder, and grinned to herself.

No doubt he was already asleep again.

* * *

"Dad."

A persistent whisper in his ear.

"Dad. It's time for school."

The words slowly made their way through the haze that surrounded his mind, and Rick blinked slowly, felt the small hand nudging at his shoulder.

Alexis.

"Daddy," she repeated, a trace of impatience in her voice, her knee digging into his hip.

School. Whoa - what time-

He jerked up, panicky eyes seeking his alarm clock, his body protesting against the flurry of movement. Maybe he and Kate should have done a little more sleeping, a little less...

Crap, was it seriously eight in the morning?

"Alexis-"

"You need to get dressed," she told him, in that serious, determined tone that he found absolutely adorable. Jeez, he didn't know who she got that solemnity from, but it certainly wasn't him.

He swung his legs out of bed and shivered, not so much from the cold as from the exposure, the morning air rippling over his bare skin. Oh, he didn't even have boxers on, did he?

He glanced at his daughter, trying to determine if she was old enough to care, but Alexis was already backing away towards the door, a smile breaking up her mask of severity.

"I'll wait for you in the living-room," she told him, her eyes finding his, holding them for a second. "And don't worry, I've had breakfast, and my bag is ready."

He nodded dumbly and watched her leave, tiny rushed steps that made her look like a busy, important person; it was a while since the last time he'd felt that hot flush of shame burn his cheeks.

It was a while since the last time his daughter had had to drag him out of bed.

* * *

He stumbled out of his study, his attempt at walking and putting on a shoe at the same time proving a rather disastrous idea, and found his mother standing in the kitchen, sipping from a cup.

He paused for a heartbeat, having truly forgotten that she was here at all. Her gaze landed on him, that spark of knowingness he didn't much like, but couldn't do anything against; then her eyes shifted, looking over his shoulder, as if expecting someone else.

He gave the slightest shake of his head, felt strangely relieved that Kate had left much earlier. It wasn't about her, not really - since apparently she could charm both his mother and daughter in the same breath.

No, it was...him.

He didn't remember the last time he'd been as vulnerable to a woman as he was to Kate. And he wasn't sure he was ready for anyone else to witness it.

Of course, it would have to happen at some point, and rather sooner than later, clearly-

"Da-ad," Alexis called, half-impatient, half-scolding, and he hurried towards the door, grabbing his keys on the way and resolving, for now, to keep Kate Beckett away from his thoughts.

Of course, it was easier said than done.

* * *

Alexis was silent during the whole subway ride. At first he thought she was mad at him for almost making her late to school; but whenever she looked at him she gave him a distracted little smile, sweet and dreamy, and he quickly stopped worrying.

Maybe she'd tell him what she was thinking about, maybe not; his daughter could be a very private person sometimes. Unlike him, she'd never been a big talker; she didn't feel the need to advertise everything that happened to her, every idea that flashed through her mind.

He liked that, actually. He liked that she could be so different from him, her own little person, even if he was pretty much the only role-model that she had. He remembered the way she'd been as a baby, so quiet and observant, her wide blue eyes soaking in the world; for a long time she'd smiled only for him, that toothless grin that opened up her little face, crinkled her eyes.

His silently laughing baby.

She was a lot older now, so mature and responsible; he trailed after her to the gate of her school, which was as far as she would allow him to go. _Parents don't come inside anymore, Dad.  
_

Parents were, however, allowed to kiss their daughters as they parted for the day. Since there were still a dozen kids playing in the front yard, Rick took his time, brushing his lips to her crown of red hair, realizing with a squeeze of his heart that this would probably be taken from him too. Sooner or later.

Not today, though. Alexis's hand came up, fisting over the lapel of his shirt, and she considered him with her head bobbed, eyes so similar to his own.

"Dad?"

"Yes, pumpkin?"

"Why didn't you tell me about Kate?"

His heart stopped in his chest; his brain desperately scrambled for an answer.

"Tell you what?" he answered lamely, because he didn't know what else to say.

Alexis had that _don't be silly_ look on her face. He braced himself for the worst.

"Well, that she's your friend. And that she's a cop," his daughter added, excitement unfurling in her voice. "I mean, isn't that so cool? And she had her uniform on and everything. It's like she's a superhero, only without the powers or the technology. She must be so brave."

Rick sucked in a breath, relief sparking in his chest.

"She _is _pretty brave. I saw her arrest a bad guy once, and I'm telling you, she was scary."

He watched his daughter shiver, the pleasure that shone in her eyes. "Did you ask her what it was like?" he inquired, curious. "Being a cop?"

Alexis smiled sheepishly. "I wanted to, but I didn't dare. Besides, Gram wanted to sing, and Kate knew all the Disney songs-"

"She did, huh?" He smirked, delighted at the idea of his kick-ass Beckett singing _Cinderella_ with his daughter. Oh, all the ways he could tease her with this.

The beauty of it had somehow escaped him last night. Yeah. Lots of things tended to escape him when he had Kate's lips pressed to his skin.

"Yeah," Alexis laughed, her face bright. "She actually knew some of the words better than Gram - even the recent ones like Hercules that aren't so famous. And she was _good_, Dad. She has such a beautiful, beautiful voice."

"She does?" he echoed, surprised that he had not even thought of that. Kate Beckett singing. The mental image arrested him for a moment, the lovely picture that his mind so readily painted - Kate standing on a stage, her hair pulled back, smoky make-up and a black dress. The way her voice would wrap around a man, husky and delicate, such emotion in every note...

"Oh, yes," Alexis was saying, and his attention snapped back to her, the complete lack of jealousy in her voice making him puff up with pride. "I told her, but she laughed and shook her head and she just said I was really nice. But I wasn't, I was telling the truth-"

The bell rang then, calling in all the children who lingered outside, and Castle pushed his daughter towards the door. She hugged him briefly, her arms squeezing him hard, and she smiled up at him.

"We should invite her over to dinner sometime," she said in a rush, and then she detached herself from him, ran off with a, "Love you, Daddy," thrown over her shoulder.

He stood there with mixed feelings, couldn't help his heart from melting a little, even though he realized that the whole conversation had probably been cleverly managed by his daughter so that she could make that last suggestion.

Invite Kate to dinner.

He wasn't exactly opposed to the idea.

* * *

Kate Beckett was bored.

With a discreet sigh, she flicked her eyes to the open book she held in her hands, tried for the third time to gather some interest for the third chapter of _War And Peace. _But she kept turning the pages at a regular pace, so it wouldn't look suspicious that she'd been sitting there for over two hours, reading, and so she was now completely confused between the characters - because she hadn't really paid attention to begin with.

She wasn't _supposed_ to pay attention. She was supposed to be watching the bar for any sort of fishy business, to be checking if money didn't change hands without an apparent reason.

But nothing was happening; the place was pretty much empty. And the few loners who sat in the corners, nursing early drinks, didn't seem to be a danger to anyone but themselves.

Seriously, _War And Peace._ She'd had to keep her surprise from showing when Osbourne had handed her the book as a prop, then turned to another cop with a baseball cap. Must have been someone at the 12th who was a fan of Tolstoy, she mused, running her fingers over the massive amount of pages she still had to "read."

Her mother had read _War And Peace_, but Beckett couldn't remember now if Johanna had enjoyed the book. She could see it very clearly if she closed her eyes, the heavy volume resting on the living-room's shelves, in a corner that remained untouched by sunlight.

As a kid, she'd found it impressive and completely daunting; as a teenager, she'd attacked the book like a mountain she could climb, with a stubborn determination, only to give up after a week or so.

She'd had no patience then, could remember being thrown off by all the foreign names that sounded so similar, by the slow, careful pace of the book. There was always something more interesting to do; it was about at that time that, Tony, a grunge musician who was in the year above her, had started showing interest in her. Since Jim Beckett had been completely appalled at the appearance of the young man, his daughter had of course made it her mission to flaunt Tony in the face of her dad every chance she got.

_War And Peace_ had found its place on the shelves again, and probably hadn't been moved since.

Beckett marked the page she was at, and set the book on the table, taking a sip of her Diet Coke as she cast her eyes around. No noticeable change. The barman was wiping some glasses clean, taking his time - probably trying to keep himself occupied the only way he knew how. The other customers were minding their own business, one of them reading the local paper, another one asleep, his face flat against the table.

Jeez, at 10am. Was he really that drunk?

A memory rose up inside her, unbidden: dropping by her dad's unannounced on a Sunday morning, planning to treat him to brunch somewhere, and finding him unconscious on the couch, reeking of whiskey. Kate bit into her lower lip, and averted her eyes.

She needed to call him, make sure he was okay. He'd seemed fine the last time they'd talked, but it'd been too long. She'd spent so much time alone, protecting herself against the outside world; it was hard to remember how to let people in again.

The museum was a good idea, though. She needed to make good on that, set a date, something that would show him she cared. That she was in this, too.

Still his daughter, despite everything.

Everything was so quiet around her. Beckett checked her watch, her fingers stroking the leather band mechanically, as if she was still surprised to find it there. One more hour; then Johnson would take her place. No one could stay inconspicuous forever - especially not in an almost empty bar.

With a weary press of her lips, she grabbed her book again, the thought lazily fleeting into her mind as she parted the pages with her thumb. Did Castle like _War And Peace?_

Well, maybe he hadn't read it. It was a task that demanded considerable patience, and patience didn't strike her as Castle's main quality. But she would have to ask him, next time.

A small smile twisted her mouth; and although it might have looked to an outsider observer like she'd just come across something funny in her reading, Kate Beckett knew better.

_Next time._


	24. Chapter 24

It didn't hit Castle until later that day.

He'd gone home to write, the ideas for Nikki Heat still coming in a steady, uninterrupted flow; he couldn't even stop, couldn't pause in the middle of a scene, because the next sentence was always pressing to get out, right there at his fingertips.

After a few hours, though, he reached a fork in the road. Two ways the novel could go, and he wasn't sure which was the right one, so he forced himself out of his study and into the kitchen for a much-needed break.

There were leftovers in the fridge, a butter chicken he and Alexis had made together earlier in the week, following a recipe from an Indian cookbook that his mother had gotten him for Christmas. He heated that up, looking through the window as he waited, ran a hand through his hair.

It was a gorgeous winter day, the sky a pale, delicate shade of blue, the sun shining white and blinding, but Rick hardly noticed. He was too busy considering the options laid out before him.

Clara Strike had played a considerable part in the Derrick Storm novels, from the very beginning of the series. The books were mysteries, yes, but the love story mattered too, was probably the thing that readers commented on the most when they came to his signings. In fact, as a rule, Rick always had some romantic subplot threaded into the main story; it came naturally to him, made for a better read, too. Or so he thought.

Since he was about a hundred pages into Nikki Heat, halfway through the eighth chapter, habit would have dictated that he now introduce the man who was going to be the young detective's love interest.

But...

The microwave dinged, calling his attention back to the food, and he grabbed a fork, a glass, settled at the counter with the chicken.

For the first time since he'd started writing crime novels, Rick found himself hesitant to make this one into a love story. It wasn't that he didn't want to give Nikki a happy ending - of course he did - but she was such a rich, complex, fascinating character.

He wanted time to explore all of her facets, play with her, discover more of what she had to offer before he set her up for life. Yeah, he had a vague idea of the sort of man she might fall for, the sort of guy who might balance out all that single-minded determination, that fierce hunger for justice; but it was too early yet.

Hmm. Maybe that man could make an appearance at some point in the book, something brief, a nice little touch of foreshadowing. And then, in the next one-

Rick chuckled, realized he was getting ahead of himself. He hadn't even gotten a proper green light for the first novel - he hadn't even _finished_ the first novel, and he still had Derrick Storm to take care of.

Still - he knew.

He couldn't remember the last time he'd believed in one of his characters like he believed in Nikki - and he was ready to fight for her. He wanted more than a one-book deal, and hell, he would negotiate with Black Pawn himself if he needed to.

And if Black Pawn didn't want Nikki? Well, there were other publishers out there. He was a best-selling novelist; his name was fairly well-known now. He could make this happen.

He gobbled down the last of the butter chicken, suddenly impatient to get back to work, and quickly put plate and fork in the dishwasher, only keeping his glass of water with him. In his study, his phone was chiming - not the joyful notes that announced an incoming text, but the pitiful sound that said _feed me_.

He looked around for the charger, grunted in annoyance when he couldn't find it. He could be amazingly organized when it came down to his writing, or to the kitchen - nothing worse than a messy kitchen - but his study and bedroom were another story. Oh, last time - hadn't he put it in his bedside table?

He headed that way, squatting down and pulling the drawer open; a triumphant sound escaped his lips as he reached for the small device. There it was, right next to the box of condoms that-

Castle paused.

Condoms.

Holy-

He rocked back on his heels, his balance precarious enough that he landed heavily on his butt, fingers still curled around the charger and its cord. But he wasn't seeing the small wooden table, the cutely crooked lamp that Alexis had picked for him - his mind was on the previous night, the film of it playing before his eyes, and crap, fuck, _fuck_.

How could he have so completely forgotten?

* * *

Kate stepped out of the elevator, her bottom lip curled between her teeth, her hands buried deep in the pockets of her coat. It was the only way she wouldn't fiddle with her buttons, her scarf, her gloves; she'd shoved her fingers down and ordered them to stay still, had only allowed her right hand to curl around her phone.

She followed the corridor up to the Castles' door, _second night in a row_, ruthlessly suppressed the thought as she raised a hand and knocked firmly.

She could do this. She was an adult; she could do this.

Castle opened almost immediately, the eagerness in his eyes tempered with something else, something she couldn't put a name on.

"Hey," he greeted, his voice low, a little breathless.

Kate tilted her head, narrowed her eyes at him. What was going on with him?

"Hey," she answered slowly, stepping forward when he moved out of the way to let her in. "Everything okay?"

His text said that he had something to talk to her about, but she'd assumed it was an excuse to see her, or maybe something he needed to ask about the book. He'd looked so happy when she'd left this morning; things couldn't have changed this much in the space of a day. Right?

But now that he was in front of her, skittish and hesitant at her simple question, she didn't know anymore.

"I-" he started, but just then Alexis came out of the kitchen, a shy, beautiful smile on her face, and immediately Castle straightened, his eyes easy and playful again. Under control. Darn.

"Hi, Kate," the girl said, looking adorably grown-up in her woolen dress and matching tights.

"Hello, Alexis," Beckett returned with a smile, genuinely pleased to see her again. "You look very pretty."

Pleasure shone in those clear blue eyes. "Thanks," Castle's daughter answered brightly, twirling gracefully before she added, "It's my favorite dress. Blue's my favorite color."

"Looks good on you," Kate approved. She felt a hand brushing her arm, and almost startled, but Castle's voice was already at her ear, deep and reassuring. "I'll take your coat," he murmured, and she let him slide the thick fabric down her arms, her heart tripping at the familiar, intimate touch.

So domestic.

"You're not wearing your uniform," Alexis observed, a touch of disappointment in her voice, and Kate swallowed, worked to turn her attention back to the girl.

"Not today, no," she said, her mouth quirking into a grin. "Wanna know why?"

"You were undercover!" Alexis guessed, breathless with excitement.

Castle was still hovering at Kate's back, a warm presence at her shoulder, and she caught the sharp, surprised lift of his head. Maybe his daughter wasn't usually so lively with visitors.

"Uh-huh," Beckett confirmed, finally moving towards the living-room with the Castle family in tow. "I was undercover. We were a whole team, monitoring a bar where there might drug dealing going on-"

"Did you arrest anybody?" the girl gasped, sounding so very much like her dad that Kate couldn't help a chuckle.

"No, actually. It was a pretty boring day. Nothing suspicious happened."

"Oh," Alexis sighed, a cute pout on her lips. "How come?"

Beckett grinned at her. "Well, for one, we might have gotten the wrong information. That happens a lot, you know. People call the precinct all the time, and sometimes their tips just turn out to be empty. Nothing to them."

"But why do people do that?" the girl asked, her brow furrowing. "Why do they call to tell you things if they're not sure it's true?"

"They _think_they're sure," Kate answered with a shrug. "They think they've seen or heard something important. So they share it with us, and then it's our job to check it out. It's not a bad thing, Alexis. Look at it this way: if someone thought they saw a kid get taken from a playground, but was mistaken about it - it was just the kid's father and the kid didn't want to go home, but it still didn't look right - should they call us anyway, or should they keep quiet?"

Alexis pressed her lips together, thoughtful. "They should call, just in case."

"Exactly. Sometimes, mistaken information is better than no information at all."

Castle's daughter took a moment to absorb that, her face very serious as she considered Kate's words, then she lifted her blue eyes to the cop.

"What is the other possibility?"

"What?"

"You said, _for one_," Alexis said, with a clever look. "When I asked about the bar-"

"Oh yeah," Kate remembered, impressed with the child's memory. "Well, the other possibility is that today was just an off-day. Watching a place only a day isn't enough to establish a pattern, to know for sure what is, and what isn't going on."

"So you're gonna go back tomorrow?"

Beckett nodded with a smile. "Yup. I have to be there first thing in the morning." She sought out Castle's eyes, because this was information meant for him as well, and found that he was already watching her, a strange combination of adoration and concern on his face.

Huh. She wanted to ask, she really did, but he clearly wasn't going to say anything in front of his daughter. She would just have to wait, she realized with an inner sigh.

"So," she said, turning to Alexis again. "What's that amazing smell?"

* * *

It was lasagna. Homemade, rich, delicious lasagna that melted on Kate's tongue, the blend of meat, tomato and cheese so perfect it made her close her eyes in pleasure.

"Wow," she said after she'd slowly swallowed her first bite. "This might actually be the best lasagna I've ever eaten."

Alexis giggled proudly at her words, but Castle was as grave as ever, didn't give her so much as a smile. He kept looking from her to his daughter, his eyes on something that only he could see; Kate was starting to be annoyed at his lack of involvement.

He had whined like a little boy because he had missed her and Alexis's first encounter, and now that he got a chance to make up for it - he spent it staring into space?

No way.

"Castle," she called, her fingers wrapping around the stem of her glass. When he didn't react fast enough, she clicked her tongue at him, heard Alexis's small chuckle. "Castle."

"Yeah," he answered, startled, his eyes finally meeting hers.

"Can I have some wine, please?"

He looked down at the bottle that stood in front of him, and back at her, nervous, a reluctance at the back of his eyes that she just couldn't explain.

"What?" she asked, her voice a little sharp.

"Nothing," he hastened to say, and she could see the distinct bob of his adam's apple as he grabbed the bottle, poured her a half-glass.

Whatever was going on with him, he needed to get a damn grip. Unless he wanted his too-clever kid to pick up on it, start asking questions.

"So how was - how was your day?" he asked after clearing his throat, giving her an apologetic glance.

She rewarded him with a quirk of her lips, her stomach flipping at the homey feel of the question, and before she could say anything Alexis huffed, "She already said that, Dad! It was boring because they were watching this bar and nothing happened. You need to listen better."

Castle let out a startled laugh, his eyes flicking to Kate as if to seek support; but she shrugged and put another piece of lasagna in her mouth, rested her back against the chair in a very clear, _not my problem_kind of way.

"Okay, pumpkin," he said, turning to his daughter with mock seriousness. "I'll try to pay more attention, promise."

"You better," Alexis said, her tone so unimpressed that Beckett actually snorted with laughter. "I mean, if you're writing a book about Kate, you need to get all the details right. You need to pay attention."

"Yeah, Castle," Kate teased, biting her lip. "Can't mess up my character now, can you?"

He stared at her, at his daughter, and there was that peculiar expression flashing in his eyes again, longing mixed with something close to terror, a dark, swirling anxiety that wrapped around her gut.

He was quicker to hide it this time, finding a smile, a joke to distract Alexis, but it lingered with Beckett, that sense that something was wrong, deeply wrong, and she just didn't know about it yet.

* * *

The moment his daughter disappeared up the stairs, after several goodnights to Kate and even a nervous, hesitant squeeze of her hand that jumbled Castle's already fragile heart, Beckett swirled around, stepped into him.

"Okay, Castle. Now talk."

He opened his mouth, closed it, intimidated now by the authority that rolled off her in waves, the no-nonsense look on her face, and walked back into the table. Darn. No escaping then.

And why would he want to escape, anyway? He had waited all night to talk to her.

Jeez, Rick. _Be a man._

"Kate," he started, but his voice died in his throat when he remembered the way she'd laughed with Alexis tonight, how comfortable and relaxed she'd been, fun and smart and such a wonderful example for his daughter.

God, he just didn't want to lose her.

"Castle," she growled, her left hand fisting at her side. "You already ruined my dinner by looking like the Apocalypse was about to break out on us. I swear, if you don't tell me what's going on right now-"

"We forgot about protection," he said, wanted to take back the words as soon as they were out of his lips. He closed her eyes for an instant, waiting for her to understand, opened them again.

Kate was staring at him in confusion.

"Last night," he clarified, his heart sinking in his chest. "We didn't use...anything."

Her brow knitted, her mouth twisting in - was that a smile?

"Castle," she said slowly, as if he were a child. "I'm on the pill. You know that, right? I'm fine."

Yeah. He wished it were that easy.

"Meredith got pregnant with Alexis when she was on the pill," he revealed, torn between his desire to not freak her out, and his will to make her understand. "You can't trust-"

But she was still smiling, and shaking her head; she grabbed his wrist, gently laced her fingers with his.

"Rick, I understand that your experience makes you...wary of birth control, but - there are thousands of women for whom it works just _fine_. And I'm one of them. There's nothing to worry about."

"As sexy as that use of _whom_was, I don't agree," he said, meeting her eyes gravely. "It takes only one time, Kate. One little time when protection fails you, and your whole life is turned upside down-"

"Surely you're not saying you regret having Alexis."

"Of course not," he hissed, glancing towards the stairs to make sure his daughter was still out of hearing. "She's the best thing that's ever happened to me. But do I regret doing this with a woman who wasn't ready for it, who has never proved able to put her own child before herself? Yes, I do. Yes, I wish Alexis had a worthy mother, someone who was there for her-"

"Is that what this is about?"

Kate's eyes widened, and she dropped his hand, took a step back. What-

"Is that why you're freaking out like this, Rick? Not because I might be pregnant, but because you don't trust that I'd be there for our child?"

Our child. The words hit something deep inside him, a tight curl of need that he had kept himself from examining too closely, and he was made silent, breathless by the flare of hope in his chest.

"Oh, great. That's great," she muttered, her voice strangled, a hand pressed to her forehead as she turned away from him. "Why-"

She stopped, spun back to him, her eyes fierce, glittering diamonds in the soft glow of the lamps. "Why am I here, eating your food, getting to know your daughter, if you don't even _trust_me?"

"I trust you-" he cried desperately, but she wouldn't let him finish.

"The hell you do," she hissed, something wild and feral to the way her body moved. "You dump this on me, look at me like I'm a bomb about to explode-"

"No, no, but you're a cop," he said, hoping it might help him set things straight. Kate's head swiveled like he'd slapped her.

She stared at him, mouth open, and for a second he thought she might cry.

"You seemed pretty excited about that before," she dropped, her voice flat, only the faintest touch of bitterness to it.

Oh god, he was screwing this up completely.

"I still am," he said softly, hoping his words carried his complete devotion to her. He took a small step towards her, waited to see if she would bolt, and when she didn't he curled a tentative hand around her elbow. "Kate, I didn't mean - I love that you're a cop. You know that."

"But I'm not reliable," she murmured, not looking at him.

"That is not at all -" he took a deep breath, rubbed his fingertips to his eyebrow. "You're so young, Kate. You're going to be a detective sometime soon, and you have your whole life in front of you, and I... I don't want to ruin that."

Her eyes slowly lifted to him, considering, so dark he couldn't read them at all.

"All I meant to say was - that we need to be more careful," he sighed. "And that I'd like you to take a test, just so we're sure, so we know what our options are."

She gently pulled her elbow from his hold, her teeth finding her lower lip. "Our options," she breathed out, her face so carefully neutral.

He held his ground. "Please," he said.

She shook her head again, huffing softly, at him or at herself, he couldn't be sure.

"I'm not pregnant, Castle," she hammered, but he could swear she'd lost some of her earlier confidence. "Jeez."

"You don't know that," he opposed quietly.

She gave him a harsh look, but then her eyes slid shut, and she made a frustrated sound as she pinched the bridge of her nose.

"Fine," she said dryly after a moment. "I'll get a test. Just to ease your poor twisted mind."

"Thank you," he said, the words leaving him in a rush, but she held up a hand, stopped him with her eyes.

"I'm not...This isn't over, Castle. The whole,_ I don't want to ruin your life_thing - that's crap, and you know it as well as I do. You're in or you're out, Rick. Either you trust me, or you don't. I know it's hard, and I probably will screw up, more than once, but I can't..."

Her voice trailed off and he wanted nothing more than to hold her close, press his lips to her cheekbone and promise her everything - but he knew she was right.

At least in part.

If she _was_pregnant-

He closed his eyes, let out a long breath. When he looked at her again, she wasn't there; he turned feverishly, but she was standing at the couch, buttoning her long winter coat.

Her eyes met his, sad but determined, and his breath caught in his chest.

"I'm going home for the night," she said, her voice soft, steady. "I think you don't know what you want, Castle. So I suggest you figure it out, and then call me."

He opened his mouth to speak, but she cut him with a small, joyless smile. "It's fine. I'll take a test, let you know. Not that there will be anything to know," she added in a whisper, and the look she shot him - it was almost gentle, like she was trying to prepare him for it.

"Goodnight," she said, and he watched her leave, didn't do anything to stop her.


	25. Chapter 25

The air was damp and chilly when she stepped outside, the pale glow of the streetlights failing to make the night any less murky. The New Yorkers who were still out all seemed to be hurrying home, hunched against the small drizzle, and Kate herself shivered as she headed for the yellow shape of a cab.

She had the driver drop her off two blocks from her apartment; there was a small drugstore there open 24/7, and she felt like walking the rest of the way. She needed to shake off Castle's words, the weight in her chest that wouldn't let her breathe right.

After the semi-darkness of the cab, the neon lights of the shop were blinding. Beckett blinked, her eyes taking a second to adjust before she could orient herself, but she'd been there a few times before, knew roughly where to find pregnancy tests.

There was a vast array of them, brands that Kate had never heard of, or maybe seen once on TV. She stared at them for a handful of seconds, overwhelmed, before she firmly set her chin and grabbed two random boxes.

Okay, three. Castle looked like he needed a great deal of reassurances, and despite being mad at him for his poor word choice and his lack of trust in her, she wasn't going to punish him this way.

He deserved to know, if only because he had good reasons for freaking out. Well. Okay reasons.

She bit her lip and headed for the register, the boxes securely held between both hands, prepared herself for a judgmental look from the pharmacist. But the man behind the desk gave her a kind, tired smile, and took the tests from her hands without comment.

"Do you need any advice as to how to use those?" he asked softly after he was done scanning the barcodes.

Beckett parted her lips, flicked her eyes to the boxes - surely there were some kind of instructions inside? - and back to the man's brown, patient gaze. After all, what could it hurt?

"I do, actually," she answered with a small smile.

"It's nothing complicated," he assured her, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Basically, the longer you wait, the more accurate the result. Most labs recommend you take the test about a week after your missed period, or, if you're not sure when your next period is going to be, three weeks after you last had unprotected sex."

"Three weeks," Kate echoed in a breath, surprised. She'd expected a delay, but she hadn't thought it would be this long. Of course, pregnancy tests were meant for girls who'd skipped their period, not overreacting Castles who'd forgotten to use a condom.

Well. He would just have to wait, then.

The man shrugged. "You can take it earlier if you want; it just won't be as reliable. But ultimately, it's your choice."

She nodded her thanks, paid with a couple twenties, and put the change back in her wallet before she grabbed the small plastic bag.

"Goodnight," she told the obliging druggist, and then she walked back into the cold, shivering night.

Three weeks.

* * *

She wasn't pregnant.

Of course she wasn't. Maybe she hadn't led the wildest life during her years with the NYPD, but she'd slept with enough guys to know that, with or without condom, birth control was a good, solid protection.

Beckett wasn't stupid. She knew there was always a risk, however slight, that no protection was ever perfect.

But Castle had been unlucky before, so to speak; Alexis's conception had already been one of those few, rare exceptions. The odds that he'd gotten Kate pregnant as well... Yeah, too insignificant to even be worth considering.

Still, when she curled in bed that night, the tests safely tucked in a drawer of her bathroom, she couldn't help remembering the way Castle had looked at her, so scared and desolate, like this was the worst possible thing that could happen; her heart bled.

Was it?

Would it really be so terrible if she was pregnant with his child?

She sneaked a hand under the large t-shirt she wore to bed, pressed her palm to the flat of her stomach. The skin was soft and warm, the pulse of blood underneath, and she tried to imagine what it would actually be like, a tiny human being growing inside her.

Huh.

It didn't feel real, no matter how hard she tried. She couldn't picture it.

But just because she couldn't see herself pregnant, couldn't see herself as a mom, didn't mean he was right. Maybe she'd be _great_ at it - maybe-

Kate sighed and flopped onto her back, her skull digging into the softness of the pillow.

Who was she kidding? She _was_ young, and she _did_ have plans, and if the improbable happened - if she found herself pregnant - there was no telling what she would do. Which was exactly why Castle was scared, wasn't it?

Kate fisted her hand on the comforter, and closed her eyes.

Her friend Madison had gotten an abortion once. The summer after they'd graduated from high school. Maddy'd been seeing this guy, Jake, an exchange student from Australia who had gone back to his country as soon as classes were over. Kate's friend had moped for a month, and then realized that Jake had left her with a goodbye present.

Madison's parents had never known. It was Kate who had held her hand on the way to the clinic, and had waited for Maddy to come to in the small, too-clean recovery room. It was Kate who had comforted the young woman, dabbed at the fat tears that kept rolling down her cheeks.

But Madison, with her natural enthusiasm, her appetite for life, had quickly gotten over the initial heartache; Beckett had never doubted that her friend had made the right choice.

Of course, Maddy's situation then was very different from Kate's situation now.

Beckett shifted again, rolled onto her side, her hand unconsciously brushing her collarbone, feeling for her mother's ring. It was in her jewelry box, of course, not around her neck; she sighed, chewed on her lower lip.

There were times when she longed, so badly, for her mother's advice, her mother's comforting touch - it made it hard to breathe still.

Five years.

Would she spend her whole life missing her mother?

She inhaled slowly, pushed the air out, did it again. She wouldn't cry; she wouldn't let herself cry, not tonight. Castle was being alarmist, his own experience coloring his perspective, but there was no reason for it to get to her.

Everything would be fine.

And if she _was_ pregnant, if they had somehow created a new life between them, then she would deal with it when she had to. All in good time.

Castle's baby. She had the fleeting vision of a small thing with blue eyes, a mess of dark hair like the one she bore in all the baby pictures displayed at her parents', tiny feet that wriggled-

and then she was asleep.

* * *

Rick wrote until the wee hours of the morning.

It was all Nikki Heat, but it would never be material for the book. He wrote about Nikki buying a pregnancy test, taking it alone at her place, her body curled on itself against the cold tiles; it was positive, two pink lines that glared at her, and she cursed, sent the test bouncing off the wall.

It wasn't right. He deleted the scene, started another one.

This time she was silent, her mouth pursed against the tears, her fingers clenching over her cell phone as she considered calling her mother.

But it wasn't right either.

Next was a scene where the test was negative, and the young detective closed her eyes in relief, a laugh tangling in her throat - or maybe it was a sob. Her life wouldn't have to change, no terrible decisions would have to be made, and Nikki was grateful. So grateful.

Still, for a moment the ghost of that baby lingered behind her eyes, a hazy remainder of a dream - a nightmare? - that would never come true; Nikki's heart quivered...

Castle huffed and pushed the keyboard away from him, his fingers rebelling against the words they'd just typed; he hunched forward, pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes. A frustrated moan vibrated in his throat, he clamped his lips over it, counted backwards from ten and straightened in his chair.

The computer was placidly waiting for his next move, cursor blinking, the white stretch of the open document somehow soothing Rick's misery.

He rolled his chair close again, his hands instinctively finding the keyboard.

He didn't let himself think, just wrote, let it all pour out of him, the heart-stopping anxiety, the regret, the anger laced so tightly with want that he could no longer tell one from the other.

That scene was different. He might actually, with a few modifications, be able to fit it in the book.

Nikki Heat was watching a playground, waiting for her murder suspect - a single dad - to appear with his progeny. The colors were bright, the red touch of a slide, the green of the trees in the summer; children were running everywhere, laughing and shouting and crying when they fell.

One of the mothers was Nikki's age, maybe even younger. When she turned, opened her arms to her little girl, her profile reminded the detective of a girl she'd been to high school with - Marisa Heller.

Whether or not it was really Marisa Heller wasn't relevant. Even if that laughing, tender young woman was someone else, it was completely possible that Marisa Heller was married somewhere, had a kid or two, a handsome husband who was a doctor, a lawyer, that kind of thing.

The kind of thing Nikki might have had, too, if her father hadn't been shot in that bank, if her life hadn't been completely turned around when she was nineteen.

The woman tickled the little girl, and Heat stared, couldn't help it, watched as the fat baby legs wriggled, the pink dress wrinkling as the child squirmed, her round mouth parted in soundless laughter, her blond curls dancing past her shoulders.

She might never have that.

She might never get to hold her own child, to tease that soft skin with her fingers; she'd chosen a different path. She'd chosen justice.

But as she sat in her car, her eyes trained on the charming picture made by the mother and her little girl, she couldn't help the sharp, burning flare of regret for the life she'd lost, and could never have back.

* * *

Rick stared at his words, his heart in his throat, saved the document out of habit. Then he turned off his computer, rose from his chair, and headed for his bed.

The truth was - no matter how many times he wrote the scene, or which ending he gave it, it didn't bring him any closer to knowing what Kate would do. He hadn't spent enough time with her, hadn't been given enough chances to observe her - and he had a feeling that even if he had, she would still be a mystery to him.

Maybe she was right.

Maybe she really wasn't pregnant; maybe he was freaking out for no reason. But the damage was already done, wasn't it? He'd as good as told her that he didn't trust her enough to have kids with her.

It just - it was too early. For her, for them - they weren't ready. He wasn't unreasonable, was he? They couldn't do this right now; they needed more time.

Castle sighed as he shrugged off his shirt, unbuckled his belt and wriggled out of his pants. He grabbed his pajamas from the foot of his bed and slid them on, shivering a little before he lunged for his bed.

He'd have set the heating a little higher, but he knew even as he thought it that his brain was just trying to find ways around the admission that Kate had been right.

He wanted the best of both worlds. He wanted her in his bed at night, wanted to feel her smile against his lips, the long undulation of her body as he teased her, but he also wanted to keep his little world safe, his and Alexis's bubble.

He was scared of being vulnerable, exposed to her; he didn't want to give her that much power over his heart. To have her pregnant with his child, and not know what she would do-

But that was the thing.

He couldn't do this if he didn't trust her. No matter how long they spent together, no matter how much time she spent proving herself to him, laughing and talking with his daughter, he would never be able to read her mind - he would never know what was in her heart.

Unless he trusted her.

Unless he was ready to make room for her, to accept that sometimes life got in the way, brought them unexpected gifts, and that... They could learn to deal with them, together.

That was, if she still wanted him.

Rick rolled in his bed, buried his face in the pillow with a grunt. Shit.

He owed her a good long apology. Heartfelt and with tears in his voice - that would be even better.

Yeah. He'd never been very good at apologizing.

* * *

The next morning he watched Alexis eat her cereal, that careful way she had to press her lips tightly around the spoon, only release it when it was wiped clean; her hair got in the way sometimes, because it was so long, and she would push it back with a little flick of her hand, graceful and unconscious.

Maybe there was a little more of her mother in her than he liked to think.

"What did you and Kate talk about last night, after I went to bed?" she asked suddenly with a very direct look, startling him so much that he almost dropped his coffee.

"After you went to bed," he repeated distractedly, reaching for a paper towel and wiping the liquid that had spilled.

"Did you talk about the book?"

He sucked in a quiet breath, turned his eyes to her daughter. She was finishing her cereal, sitting straight in her chair with her chin held high, her usual, adorable kind of serious. He couldn't lie to her, but he couldn't tell her the truth either.

"A little bit," he said, thinking of the pages he'd written last night, that he would never use. "But she left not long after you went to bed, pumpkin, because she had to get up this morning."

"Oh yeah, for the surveillance thing."

Alexis shot him a sideways glance, as if to make sure she'd pronounced that right, and he couldn't help grinning.

"Nice vocabulary there, daughter."

She laughed - she always did when he called her that - and stood up, bringing her bowl and spoon back to the dishwasher, putting them where she could find room.

"Gonna brush my teeth," she told him, and she ran off to the stairs, her deep blue skirt flying around her white tights.

He watched her disappear with his throat tight, remembered the look on Kate's face last night, shocked and wounded, such hurt in her eyes.

No wonder. Jeez, he was such a hypocrite. He was so obviously in love with his daughter; he knew it showed, whenever he mentioned her, whenever he and Alexis were together. It just couldn't be helped. And Kate - Kate was a cop, and of course she'd seen that, how happy a dad he was, how proud, how amazed by his kid.

So when he'd freaked out about the possibility of a baby, that mere eventuality, what other conclusion could she draw but to think it was about her? That it was _her_ the problem, and not...

Oh, damn it.

He needed to make things right.


	26. Chapter 26

She didn't hear from him all day.

She wasn't sure if that was a good sign or not; technically, she _had_ said she'd tell him about the result of the test, so maybe he'd looked online for information about pregnancy tests, found out about the delays, and decided to give her space.

Who knew, with Castle.

Unfortunately for Beckett, the bar proved every bit as unremarkable and uneventful as it had the day before. They all took turns sitting inside, but every one of them knew that they couldn't keep this going for long before it became suspicious.

They could pretend they were regulars, for sure, but it would still not look right if the same string of people came into the bar every day, even using a different pattern.

Osborne seemed aware of that, thank god. And as the hours slowly went by, he also seemed less and less determined to keep an active surveillance on the place.

When the clock reached seven, he finally dismissed them, explained that he would keep two people stationed there at night for the rest of the week. And if nothing shook out, then they would forget about the tip, declare the place clean.

Kate wasn't asked on that night's stakeout, so she rode back to the precinct with the rest of the team, was directing her feet towards the break room when Johnson's voice stopped her.

"Hey, Beckett."

She spun around, saw the detective beckoning her to his desk. The bull pen wasn't empty yet, but it was much quieter than during the day, the few cops left either doing paperwork and working on their computers, getting ready to leave.

Johnson opened a drawer and got an envelope out, handed it to her; her name was written in careful block letters. She took it, shot him an interrogative look.

"That's the letter you asked for," he said, his voice low. "To support your request for promotion. Don't forget us when you're at the top, Beckett," he added with a wriggle of his eyebrow.

She let out a startled laugh, managed a, "Do my best."

Really, she couldn't believe he'd been so fast about it; she'd only asked him yesterday.

She almost didn't say it, started walking back in silence - they were cops, and that was what cops did, left things unsaid - but then she couldn't; she turned back, made a sound in her throat to get his attention.

"Thanks," she said evenly when he lifted his eyes to her. "I appreciate it."

He only gave her a nod in response, but she saw on his face that her acknowledgment had pleased him. Satisfied, Beckett twirled and headed for her own quarter of a desk, fingers tight around that envelope.

She could drop by Montgomery's office tonight, leave her promotion request with him if he was still here.

Good.

Excitement swirled in her gut and she suppressed it as best as she could, shoved it down, but still. Still.

It was almost enough to make her forget that Castle hadn't called.

* * *

"Ah, Officer Beckett," Montgomery greeted when she knocked lightly on the open door. "Come in, come in."

He seemed to be putting his desk in order, and had his coat folded over his arm; Kate hesitated at the threshold.

"If you're leaving, sir, I can come back at a more convenient time. Maybe tomorrow-"

"Come in, I said," he repeated with a pointed look. "And close the door."

Huh. Okay. Beckett did as she was told, took a few steps forward, but she didn't sit down. If the captain had been headed home, she really didn't want to make him late; she knew his wife, Evelyn, constantly tried to get him to work less.

"What do you have for me?" Montgomery asked with a nod at the large envelope she was still holding.

"Um, that's - that's my request for promotion, sir. Along with a recommendation letter from Detective Johnson-"

"Good, good," the captain cut her off with a smile, reaching to take the documents from her. Beckett let them go after a surprised beat, watched the way his eyes narrowed as he surveyed his desk.

"I'm gonna put that - here," he decided, opening his top drawer. "So I don't forget about it. I'm glad you dropped by just now, Beckett. I was going to ask you tomorrow, but since you're here - how would you feel about coming to the Mayor's Annual Charity Ball with me?"

Coming to the what?

"Sir?"

"I'm sorry about the lack of notice - I'm well aware that it's only in four days, but I expected my wife to come with me, to be honest with you. Only, Evelyn says she's been to one too many of these things, and she's coming down with something, apparently. Anyway, I said I was bringing a plus one, and I figure it couldn't hurt to have a promising officer tag along. Make some good press for the NYPD, you know."

He looked at her expectantly, and Kate stared back, stunned. He wanted her to - accompany him to a society event? She didn't even own a proper dress...

"I could go on my own," the captain shrugged, leaning in to turn off his small desk lamp. "But it's always nice to have some back-up, even at those kinds of events. Especially at those kinds of events," he chuckled, and there was just no way she could refuse.

"Of course, sir. Whatever you need."

He smiled at her, his eyes twinkling, a satisfied-cat look on his face that told her she had just been played. "Perfect," he said, showing her to the door. "It's set, then. Do you want me to come pick you up, or just meet here?"

"Oh - here is - fine," Beckett stammered, hated herself for it. There was just something so very disturbing about the image of Captain Montgomery coming to pick her up at her place.

He stepped out of his office after her, turning off the light, and walked with her to the elevator. Beckett gritted her teeth and kept silent, knew how it must look, had to look, to everyone else.

Daddy's favorite.

Thank god, at least the elevator was empty. They rode together to the ground floor, where she got off; Montgomery was going down still, to the parking garage.

"Let's meet here Saturday at 5:30, then," he suggested before she walked out. "The Mayor's Ball starts at 6."

"5:30," Beckett echoed with a stiff nod. "I'll be here. Goodnight, sir."

"Goodnight, officer," he answered, and there was a laughing lilt to his voice that grated at her nerves. But she held her head high as she walked out of the precinct, managed to wait until the subway station to let the panic unfurl inside her.

The Mayor's Annual Charity Ball.

Just _great._

Now she had to go shopping.

* * *

She checked her phone a couple times on the way back, but still no word from Castle. She considered texting him, but what would she say? She didn't want to sound bitter, and she was afraid she might, without meaning to.

Besides, she'd told him to call her when he knew what he wanted.

The ball was in his court; she couldn't make the first move without making an idiot of herself.

She stopped at the little supermarket that was right next to her subway exit. It was expensive, because it was so well-situated, but she didn't care; she knew her fridge and shelves were pretty much empty, and she was starving.

She could have bought takeaway somewhere - there was this Thai restaurant that she loved right across the street - but takeaway was too quickly done: she'd have gone home, eaten, and then have nothing to do but contemplate a hypothetical call to Castle.

Cooking at least would occupy her mind and hands, would consume her time and energy.

Beckett was usually a very organized shopper; she had a list, and she stuck to it, went through the aisles at a quick pace to avoid temptation. She didn't like wasting her time in stores, anyway, and a cop's salary didn't allow for many delicacies.

But tonight she made an exception, wandered slowly through the vegetable section, stopped at the butcher's counter, even bought a loaf of bread at the bakery. She was careful not to buy too much, since she lived alone and didn't spend that much time home, but the smells and colors were pleasing - somehow Kate was reminded of her mother, although she couldn't pinpoint a specific memory when she and Johanna had gone shopping for groceries.

It was Jim Beckett who often came home with supplies, who would leave work a little earlier than his wife to make dinner for them; as a child Kate had often complained that she wanted to go with her dad, and he'd indulged her more than once.

Huh. Well, it made her happy, anyway, and she came out of the supermarket with both her heart and wallet lighter, her shoulders stretched under the weight of the bags.

She was winded when she got into her building; for once, she waited for the elevator, and rested her purchases on the ground with a relieved sigh.

She would make herself soup, she decided on the ride up. She'd bought potatoes, leeks, onions and tomatoes; she would look for a recipe, maybe try to find the one her mother used to make-

Well, she could adapt what she remembered of it. She had all sorts of spices (at least those didn't go bad) and surely she could make something tasty out of all that fresh food.

She was smiling at the thought when she got off on her floor, but her eyes caught a flash of movement at her right and she turned, reflexes kicking in-

Oh.

It was only Castle. He must have been sitting at her door; he was now straightening, a hand on the wall for balance, the other one holding a bunch of...balloons?

She came closer, biting on her lip, tried to keep her smile from showing.

"Castle, what is that?"

He gave her a strained, nervous little grin, followed her eyes to the balloons. They were all different colors, blue and red and yellow, and kept bumping against the ceiling in a misguided pursuit of freedom.

"Um. Well. Nothing says _I'm an ass_ like..." his voice trailed off as he met her eyes again, and she thought she could see a blush creep up his neck. "Never mind," he muttered, shaking his head at himself. "I just - I wanted to tell you myself. How sorry I am."

She pressed her lips together and studied him, the deeper hue of his eyes in the artificial light of the corridor, the hesitant line of his mouth, his too-tight grip on the balloons.

She liked this man.

She might even love him, given time.

And he'd gotten her balloons.

This time she couldn't keep the smile from leaking onto her lips, turned her head so he couldn't see all of it - but she knew he was seeing enough.

Kate dropped the grocery bags at her door, reached for her key and slid it in the lock; then she pushed the door open, bent over to pick up the food again.

And she caught his eyes with hers, some of that smile still lingering.

"Come in," she said.

* * *

He followed her inside, closed the door after them, then paused in the middle of her living-room while she went into the kitchen, started putting her groceries away.

He wasn't sure what was going on; she seemed...not upset.

Jeez, she had as good as smiled to him.

He'd been wondering all day if he should text her, ultimately deciding against it because he was sure he would manage to make matters worse somehow, but he'd thought...

He'd thought she'd be mad at him. Or that she'd act cool and removed, push him away - after all, she'd warned him that she might.

He had not expected...this.

It was almost like she'd forgiven him already. But no - no. He wouldn't let it derail him; he would apologize to her anyway, because he knew he'd that tendency to shy away from the hard stuff whenever people let him get away with it, and Kate - Kate deserved better than that.

She deserved better from him.

He stepped closer, his eyes a little mesmerized by the ballet of her dancing around in her kitchen, closing a cupboard and spinning to open the fridge, her hand grabbing the bottle of milk from the counter as she went.

"Kate," he said, had to clear his throat, let go of the balloons to wipe his clammy hand against his jeans. "Kate, I need to tell you-"

"Have you had dinner?" she cut him off suddenly, twirling to look at him, her eyes so beautiful and serene. How did she do that?

"I-" He'd made dinner for Alexis at six thirty; he hadn't eaten anything himself - his stomach was wound too tight. "No, actually," he admitted, running a hand through the short hair at his temple. "But Kate-"

"I'm starving," she told him, the corners of her mouth coming up in that soft expression that wasn't a smile but almost, almost. "So I'd rather make dinner for the two of us now, and talk later. Is that okay, Rick?"

He gaped at her for a second, his heart stammering at the use of his first name, and then he found himself nodding, strangely moved that she was willing to include him in it, that simple, domestic act - making dinner.

"Yeah," he said quietly, smiling back at her. "Sounds good. Just - tell me how I can help."

Kate opened a drawer and reached for something; before he could see what it was she'd thrown it at him, and he fumbled to catch it, his fingers closing on a-

Peeler.

"How good are you with potatoes?" she asked, tilting her head at him, that sexy little arch to her eyebrow that he adored.

He grinned back. "You have no idea."

* * *

When it was time to put all the vegetables in the pressure cooker, she realized he hadn't lied; the potatoes were cleanly peeled and cut, that diamond-faced shape that she had only ever seen in cooking shows.

"Wow, you weren't kidding about being an expert, huh?"

She slid a teasing glance at him, was surprised to find him grave again, that seriousness like a curtain fallen over his face.

"I took classes," he told her. "When I realized - when I understood that I would be doing it on my own, raising Alexis I mean, I just...wanted to be the best I could for her. I had to learn a lot, Kate. And yeah, cooking was part of it."

Kate secured the lid on the cooker, checked the timer, and then turned to him, taking a long breath as she did. So this was heavy conversation time. Okay.

Castle was looking at her like he had more to say, but wasn't sure how; she braced herself against the sink, her fingers curling at the edge, tried to figure out a way to help him.

"You-" she started, exactly at the same time as he spoke; they both paused, a breath of apologetic laughter puffing out of her as she waved. "Go ahead."

He glanced down at his hands, then back up at her, struggle in his eyes.

"Ah, this is - this isn't easy for me, Kate. I can talk about books for hours, or tell you why I think aliens live among us, but I...I don't - like - talking about my weaknesses."

"Who does?" she pointed out softly, and he let out a startled laugh.

"Touché," he recognized, combing his fingers through his hair. "Yeah. You're right. So I should just...spit it out, huh?"

His eyes met her squarely, a deeper, richer blue tonight, and she sucked in a too-short breath.

"I'm sorry, Kate," he said, and there was no hesitation left in his voice. "I'm sorry that I hurt you last night, I'm sorry if I made it sound like _you _were the problem, and not - a hypothetical child. The truth is..."

He broke off abruptly, closed his eyes for a moment, like he was trying to visualize the words - and maybe he was.

"When I had Alexis," he started again, a certainty in his eyes that made her breathless, "I didn't know what was ahead of me. I had no idea what it would be like, what it would entail to be a father. It was terrifying, but it was also thrilling, thrilling in a way that any challenge would have been to my twenty-five-year-old self. And that helped - the thrill, the excitement of it - it helped me get through the early years, through the many, many, many things I did wrong. And there was a bunch of them, Kate. It was frustrating, all those things I didn't now, all those things I had to learn - but the reward was worth it. My daughter is worth it."

Beckett didn't dare breathe, enraptured as she was by the smooth sound of his voice, the flow of the story.

"But the worst of it wasn't having to learn new things. Of course not. The worst part was that, when Alexis said her first words? When she walked for the first time, when she finished a drawing, when..." His voice broke and he looked away for a moment, so visibly gathering himself that Kate felt like she should avert her eyes too.

But the moment she did, he spoke again. "There was nobody to share those moments with, Kate. There was no one to marvel at my daughter with, no one whom I could look at over Alexis's head, find them smiling back at me with that same silly wonder in their eyes."

Her insides clenched; her heart pounded against her ribs, a caged bird that wanted to fly out to him.

"So I promised myself," he finished, giving her a pleading look. "I promised myself that I would never do that again, never raise another child alone. I promised myself that next time, if there was to be a next time, it would be with someone I truly loved, who would love me back, who would - want that child as badly as I would."

Oh. Kate closed her eyes, a long sigh tumbling from her lips. "Castle."

"I'm not-" she heard him moving, a hasty shuffle of feet before the warmth of his fingers curled around her elbow "-I'm not saying you can't be that person, Kate. You're - you're probably the closest anybody's ever gotten, wait, scratch the probably, you _are, _of course you are, but I still..."

"-have a history," she finished for him, her eyes opening to find his anxious face hovering over hers, so very close.

His adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed, and Kate acted on instinct. She pushed herself off the counter and on her tiptoes, kissed that hard ridge, lifted a little higher so she could get at his mouth.

She kissed him slowly, cautiously, a long press of her lips before she opened, touched the flat of her tongue to the seam of his mouth; he parted for her, all that dark, wet heat exposed to her exploration, the moan that trembled at the back of his throat.

When she let him go, his eyes were tightly shut, the expression on his face almost painful, a melange of sadness and hope that rattled her heart.

Castle, you big idiot.

"That's for the years you spent raising your daughter on your own," she murmured against his jaw, her fingers gently scratching the back of his neck.

He made a humming sound and leaned in closer, seeking her mouth again; Kate smirked, unhooked the fingers that had, somehow, landed at his waist.

She reached for his nose instead, bracketing it with her index and middle fingers, and then...she tweaked.

He jerked violently against her, his pained cry bouncing off the walls; she released her hold and watched amusedly as he spun around, both hands pressed to his noise, loudly moaning his pain.

"And that was for not trusting me," she said when he'd grown a little quieter, and she was sure he would hear.

He turned back to her in indignation, his eyes alive with it, but he deflated almost immediately.

"I guess I deserved that," he muttered, carefully massaging his nose between his fingers. "Ow. Can you - make sure it's not broken?"

She laughed, earning herself another wounded look. "It's not broken, Castle. I promise."

He made a disbelieving sound, but his hands slowly came back to his sides, and after a moment he stopped looking like he expected his nose to fall off any second.

"So, um," he started hesitantly. "Back to that apology I was in the middle of..."

"Really? I thought you were done," she quipped, lifting an eyebrow. "Took you long enough."

"Hey now-"

She cut him off, a soft press of her fingers to his lips, gentled him with a look.

"Castle. I understand," she sighed, her hand resting at his neck. "I understand why you reacted the way you did. I'm not saying I loved it, but..." she shrugged. "It's not like I've been giving you guarantees either, have I?"

His own fingers came up to wrap around her wrist, his thumb stroking, and somehow it made it easier to find the words.

"I don't want to make promises that I can't keep," she said, her eyes meeting his. "And, let's be honest, there's not much chance that I'm actually pregnant. But I can tell you this: if I _was_ - if we were having a baby - I'd let you in on it, Castle. I'd do it with you. Give it a real try. That's my promise to you."

His eyes shimmered in the bright light of her kitchen; for a moment she thought he was going to cry. But he didn't - he only drew her to him, brushing light kisses to her mouth before he wrapped her into a hug, crushed her against his chest.

"Kate," he breathed, and his voice was threadbare with emotion, made her heart catch in her chest. "Kate, I think I'm in love with you."


	27. Chapter 27

Everything inside her froze, quieted at the words. It was as if the whole world had gone silent, and there was only his voice echoing through it over and over, bouncing around in her chest; she wasn't sure what to do about it.

His body had tensed against hers, the muscles in his shoulders bunching under her hands - he was holding himself so still that she wondered if he was still breathing.

Was he just as surprised as she was?

There was comfort in that thought; she clung to it, forced air into her lungs, willed her mind to shut down. She couldn't think about it.

If she thought about it she would run.

Instead she turned her head into Castle's neck, nuzzling her nose to the beating vein that ran down to his collarbone, and parted her mouth at his skin. She felt him twitch, his whole body startling badly enough that he canted away for a second, but then he was alive against her, his arms cradling her close, digging into her skin, fingers seeking skin under the fabric of her shirt.

His mouth found hers, ruthless and a little sloppy, the sting of his teeth at her bottom lip; her body arched into his even as her hand moved to his neck, fingers tangling in the soft hair, stroking to slow him down.

She didn't want fast and furious; she didn't want his words to be drowned, buried under passionate sex. She wanted to hold them close, cherish them, give them back to him the only way she knew how.

He whined at her gentle touch and spun them, the edge of the table biting into her thigh when he pushed her against it; she gasped and he laved her mouth with his tongue, hoisted her up on the table.

He needed to stop hurrying like this, like he could make her forget his words by assaulting her senses - that wasn't going to happen.

"Castle," she mumbled against his lips, managed to sneak both her hands between them, curl them into his shirt. "Castle, stop."

He did let go of her mouth, but it was only so he could redirect his attack to her neck. His tongue stroked and Kate shivered - he always got that really sensitive spot, and _oh_, she couldn't deny that it was good-

But.

She hooked her fingers at his waistband, since it seemed he would only listen to _that_, and gave a sharp little tug that let her slip inside. He groaned, his hand squeezing her thigh as he paused, and that was all the time she needed to gently push back on his chest.

"Castle."

He opened his eyes, but he wouldn't look at her; his gaze darted up and away, a shyness on his face that she'd never seen.

Scared of her reaction. Oh.

She used the fingers she still had clenched around his shirt to pull him forward; he came easily, maybe not expecting it, and she feathered her lips over his, hoped it would be enough. His answer was slow and careful, light, lingering kisses, and yes, _yes_ - that was more like it.

"We have forty minutes until the food is ready," she murmured between brushes, delicious heat unfurling through her body.

She felt his grin against her mouth and relief swirled inside her, the thrill of having him back.

"Do we?" he rasped, the deep tones of his voice licking through her.

"Uh-huh," she confirmed, pressing a wet kiss to the corner to his lips, wrapping an arm around his neck. "So how about you take me to bed, Castle?"

He hummed, the sound rippling over her skin, and curled an arm low at her waist.

"I can do that."

* * *

He ran his finger up her arm, along the curve of her shoulder; Kate shivered but smiled as her eyes opened slowly, that hazy, satiated glow to them.

They'd slipped under the sheets - her apartment was chilly, and even though he'd turned up the heat, it seemed like the place would take forever to get warm again. Apart from her face, the lovely line of her neck, only her arm emerged from the covers.

Rick let his hand trail up and brush against the soft curls of dark hair, wondering if it had gotten longer. It looked different when she styled it, straighter, neater, but he loved her mussed bed hair, the halo it made around her face.

"Your mother watching Alexis?" she asked, suppressing a yawn.

He hummed, the question taking an second to register with his brain. "No, not tonight. I asked Katrina - a girl who lives in our building, two floors down. Alexis loves her; they're good friends."

His finger descended to her collarbone, paused in that little hollow where he could feel her heartbeat, then slid lower, tracing the line of the sheet over her breasts. He lifted it with his thumb, taking a peek with his eyebrow raised, earned a warm, rich laugh from Kate.

"You've seen it all," she said, but her voice was soft and indulgent, and she wasn't stopping him.

"But who could get tired of such treasures?" he answered, grinning, infusing just enough enthusiasm to his words to make her laugh again.

He leaned in and drank the last of it from her mouth, licked that beautiful, trembling joy, filling his palm with the rise of a breast. She sighed against his lips and curled closer, her body warm and pliant, so responsive.

"Food must be ready," she whispered when he moved his kiss to her ear, catching the lobe between his teeth, touching it with his tongue. He felt her hand wrap at his shoulder like she needed something to hold on to, that strong press of her lithe fingers, and he groaned, nuzzled his nose to her temple.

"You wanna eat, Kate, you gotta say so. Not sure I can let you go otherwise."

Her fingers moved from his shoulder to his neck, and she brushed her lips to his chest; a light, easy apology.

"I _am_ pretty hungry," she told him, biting her lip, her smile spilling in her eyes. "And besides, Castle. We need sustenance."

He arched an eyebrow at her, played dumb. "We do?"

She shrugged, and he had never known anyone to do it so gracefully. "You know. If we want to keep doing this all night."

And before he could even process her words her mouth was at his, dark and fierce and that delicious taste of challenge, of promise to her; he was stunned when she let him go, could only stare at her as she pushed herself up and off the bed, naked and gorgeous and smirking at him.

She grabbed something - oh, hot, it was his shirt - pulled it over her head and then hunted for her underwear, also retrieving a pair of socks from her drawer.

She looked...adorable.

She found his eyes on her when she turned, lifted an eyebrow, and shit - even that turned him on. Her confidence.

Maybe it was the thing he liked most about her.

"See you in the kitchen," she threw playfully as she passed him, her fingers skimming his arm.

He let out a long breath. Yeah. The kitchen.

He wasn't sure he could move.

* * *

The soup wasn't as good as her mom's, but it came close. And Castle raved about it, wouldn't stop with the praises, so that had to mean something - although she suspected any food coming from her hands might have been received the same way.

They ate at the table, knees bumping together, his hand occasionally wandering up her thigh; the apartment was cold, but the soup was warm, and so was he.

She was a little drunk with it, actually, the intimacy of eating dinner with him in her kitchen, haphazard clothes thrown on after sex, the ways his deep voice filled the space, coaxed her into confidences she might never have made otherwise.

So she found herself telling him about Roy Montgomery, and that invitation to the Mayor's Ball, whatever it might mean.

"I need to call Lanie," she sighed, resting back into her chair now that her stomach was full.

"Who's Lanie?" he asked, curious, and she cut him a surprised look. But of course he didn't know - it wasn't like she'd shared so much of her life with him - and yet, for some reason, it felt like...

It felt like he knew her already, and she expected him to know all the little details, too.

Huh.

"Lanie Parish. She's a medical examiner, works with the 12th a lot. With the Homicide squad, you know. Lots of dead bodies. I might have told you about her - she reads your books, too. In fact, you'd probably like her."

He wriggled an eyebrow. "Guess you should introduce us, then."

Oh. She... She probably should.

"Um, yeah," Beckett said, a little taken aback by the fact that she could actually see it happening. "We'll see. She's - she works a lot."

"I can see why she's your friend," he teased, and she smacked him on the shoulder.

"So why do you need to call her, anyway?" he said, picking up the main thread of their conversation.

"Oh, nothing, just - girl stuff." And when he wouldn't stop staring at her, she elaborated with a roll of her eyes, "I need her to find me a dress, Castle. What I have in my closet is - hardly appropriate for a ball of this kind."

"What _do_ you have in your closet?" he asked, and wow. He actually looked...interested.

"What?" she laughed, not quite believing him.

He shrugged. "Maybe I can be your Lanie for the night. You can try all your dresses on and I can tell you what I think."

Was he serious?

"No," she said instinctively. "_No_, Castle. Not happening."

"Why not?" His blue eyes stared at her candidly. "I actually have pretty good taste, you know. I swear. I can help."

"You'll laugh at me," she objected without thinking, although it was probably true.

His face grew serious. "I wouldn't, I promise. I wouldn't laugh at you, Kate."

Oh, great. Now she wanted to kiss that gravity off his mouth.

"Fine," she relented, could think of no other reason to oppose him. "But I'm telling you, I don't have anything that really fits the occasion. This is a waste of your time."

He stood up, grinning, reached out to lace his fingers with hers.

"Let's go waste my time, then."

* * *

The first dress was cute in its own way, a short, sleeveless thing with a bow over the left breast; but the color, a too-bright blue, looked wrong on Kate, made her clear skin look sickly.

"No," he said unhesitatingly, shifting against the pillows to give himself a better vantage point.

Kate didn't say anything, only pushed her hair back with a resigned look as she disappeared into the bathroom again.

Next one was, um - pink. He couldn't see past the shimmery color, had to bite his lip to keep the startled laugh from spilling out. Seriously, she had that in her closet?

She narrowed her eyes at him. "You said you wouldn't laugh."

"I know," he answered, his voice breathy with the effort of containing himself. "But, pink, Kate."

She looked down at herself, and he could see his amusement reflected back in her eyes, the way she pulled her bottom lip between her teeth.

"So?" she challenged, arching an eyebrow at him. "Pink is a - very pretty color. It's um, cheerful, and fashionable, and...you know."

"Actually, I don't know," he grinned, cocking his head at her. She was adorable, digging a hole for herself like that. "But do tell me, Kate."

She pressed her lips together, and for a second he thought she was going to stick her tongue out at him - but no. She reached for the cushion that sat on the chair next to her, sent it flying into his face before she marched back into the bathroom.

He caught the cushion, laughing, pressed it against his chest.

"You should see some of my mother's dresses," he told her through the half-open door. "Let's just say she has, um, a taste for bright. And loud. Your little pink dress is nothing compared to what she will wear."

"There's no need to soothe my bruised ego, Castle," she said, that smile to her voice telling him she really meant it. "Half these dresses I didn't even remember I owned, anyway."

She stepped into the bedroom again, wearing a little black number that immediately had him sitting up; it had only one strap over the left shoulder, and the hem of the skirt barely reached the middle of her thighs, made her legs look endless.

His eyes followed that stunning line to the floor, noted the black heels she'd slipped on, how they gave her a few extra inches that she didn't really need.

"How can you walk in that?" he asked stupidly, because he didn't have the brain power to think of something else - it was either that or _I want you naked right now._

"Practice, Castle," she said with a roll of her eyes, but it was completely belied by the humming tenderness that danced in her voice.

The black set off her skin beautifully; it made him burn to press his lips to her shoulder, the pale expanse of her neck. He pushed himself off the bed, unable to resist the magnetism that pulled him to her, and caught the twinkling triumph in her eyes.

Oh, this was punishment, wasn't it? This was what he got for making fun of the pink thing. Well, he would laugh at all her dresses then.

"You're beautiful," he breathed, the words tumbling out of their own accord.

She averted her eyes, but she couldn't hide the shiver that trembled down her throat, the delicate blush that bloomed at her collarbone.

"Can't wear it at the ball, though," she objected, her voice lacking its previous assurance.

"No you can't," he agreed without thinking. "Not if I'm not your date."

And then he winced at his own words, but she didn't take offense; she made a strangled, breathy sound that might have been a laugh, if it hadn't been so thick with arousal.

"Yeah, Castle?" she whispered, stepping in close, giving him a look through the curtain of her lashes. "Do you think, if I go like this, every man in the room is gonna...want me?"

Shit. Her hand came up to his chest, easily sliding under the shirt she'd given him back, and he shivered at the cold touch of her fingers. She leaned in, their bodies tantalizingly close, the heels putting his ear within easy reach of her mouth.

"How badly do _you_ want me right now, Rick?"

His eyes fluttered shut, his mind suddenly blank, failing to gather any sort of response. He felt her push him back towards the bed, couldn't do anything but comply when her hand was steady at his waist, her breath skimming his cheek.

He felt the mattress brush against the back of his thigh and she stilled him, nimble fingers undoing the zipper of his pants, pushing the fabric down until it pooled at his ankles.

"Sit," she commanded, a sharp exhale at his jaw. He obeyed.

She got rid of his shirt too, nails grazing the skin of his forearms as she did, and then he felt the warmth of her thighs bracketing his, the delicious weight of her resting on his lap, taunting him. Her mouth opened at his neck, dark and wet, and he groaned at the contact.

"Open your eyes," she directed, her voice velvet against his skin.

He did, slowly, marveling at how gorgeous she was, jet black hair and glittering eyes, the dress bunched up at her waist. She-

Oh. _Oh._

She didn't have anything on underneath.

She took his hand and guided it down her body, pressing his fingers to that moist, pulsing heat, and he gritted his teeth around a moan, couldn't resist pushing a knuckle up into her.

Kate gasped, her chest rising and falling so fast now, met his eyes even as she rolled her hips onto his hand.

"You want me?" she panted, her long fingers finding his cock, wrapping around it.

He made a strangled, needy sound in his throat, his blood turned liquid fire at her slow, careful tease.

"You take me," she murmured, her voice so strong and sexy, her mouth caressing his.

Her head fell onto his shoulder as she reached for something, her right hand still stroking him firmly, hips dancing around his own fingers. Fuck, fuck, she was so hot-

He heard the faint tearing sound in his daze, needed another moment to understand what she was doing. Oh. Condom.

He opened his eyes, hadn't realized they were closed, and saw her fingers on the thin rubber sheath, working to slide it onto his length; her thumb brushed the head and he grunted a curse, had to slip his own finger out of her so he could catch her hand.

She moaned and bit her lip, eyes lifting to his in confusion. "Castle?"

"Just - ah, just you," he panted, fumbling with her hand to get at the condom. She let him, but her brow was knitted, the expression completely adorable when coupled with the fierce color in her cheeks.

"Just you, Kate," he begged, ripping the protection from her and discarding it. He pushed a deep kiss to her mouth, teased her tongue into coming out to play, his hands wrapping around her thighs to bring her closer.

When his cock skidded against her folds she startled, cried into his lips, and her fingers shot down to find him, pull him into her; she sank down with a long, beautiful sigh, and his eyes snapped shut again, his mind caught up, drowned in the reality of her snug, wet heat.

Yes. Yes.

This was right, some faraway part of him thought as she rose and then glided down, again and again, her moans crashing against his lips, her pace picking up. This was right - he trusted her, he trusted her and she was on the pill anyway, and whatever happened, whatever-

She stilled suddenly, grinding their lower bodies together - she did that sometimes, like she wanted to make sure that he was buried as deep as he could go, like she was desperate for any inch of him she could possibly get.

It meant that she was close, so close, and when she moved again, her mouth open wide and gorgeous, he was ready. He thrust up into her at the same time as she came down, hard, and she broke apart above him, her inner muscles squeezing and gripping him, so tight that he came with her, couldn't help that white wash of release when her voice was hoarse with his name.

He held her close, her torso cradled into his, breasts crushed against his chest; if it was too much for her, she didn't say anything about it, and followed him down when he collapsed onto the bed, the comforter soft at his back.

"See," she murmured into his skin after a long moment, her thumb drawing hypnotizing little patterns at his bicep. "Every man in the room might want me," she said, nuzzling her nose into his neck. "But you're the only one _I_ want."


	28. Chapter 28

Her dress issues were the last thing on Beckett's mind when she walked into the precinct the next morning.

The Vice bullpen looked surprisingly empty at first glance, but as she took a closer look Kate realized that almost everyone, detectives and uniforms alike, was pressing up against the window of the largest conference room, like vultures hanging on an hypothetical scrap of food.

She stepped closer, intrigued, saw Johnson and a few others standing back at her right, clearly refusing to join the crowd. She went to them instead.

"What's up?" she asked, nodding at the gathering.

"Girl walks in this morning," Johnson said, his eyes on the conference room. "Can't be more than fourteen, make-up smeared all over her face like she's been crying. Some nasty bruises on her arms. Says she needs to talk to a cop, that she needs protection. That they're after her."

Kate's brow knitted. That scenario wasn't unheard of.

"Who's they?" she asked.

"She wouldn't say. Until Summers told her we couldn't protect her if we didn't know who was threatening her. She said one word then. Pavlov."

Pavlov?

"As in, the Pavlov that we never could bust for trafficking immigrant girls, because all the witnesses we had over the years mysteriously vanished into thin air?"

"Yup," Johnson confirmed, his brown eyes meeting hers. "That one. You can see why Osborne is all over this."

Holy crap. Yeah, that was - shit, most cops her age thought that Pavlov was an urban legend, because it'd been so long since the last time they'd found any hard evidence against him.

"Osborne's with her right now?"

"Yeah. He didn't want any one else with them - one on one is the best way to build the girl's trust. Get the most out of her. And then we'll have to verify all the information she can give us. Triple-check, probably."

Beckett heard what he wasn't saying, how Johnson refused to believe that it would that easy. Most cops would probably share his skepticism, but still, if the girl really _was_ a part of Pavlov's prostitution ring-

The operation to take him down would be the largest that the Vice department had organized ever since Beckett had come to work with them.

Made sense that everybody was hanging onto that girl's every word. They couldn't let her out of their sight-

"Uh-oh," said the woman who was standing at Johnson's right - Cameron, a detective Beckett didn't know very well.

She was looking at the bullpen's entrance, not at the conference room; Kate followed her eyes, found the familiar figure of Roy Montgomery standing there.

Someone in Osborne's spontaneous audience must have either heard Cameron's soft warning, or felt the captain's presence; the information was quickly passed on, rushed murmurs that caused the flock to scatter, everybody going back to their previous occupation.

Montgomery watched in silence, a hint of a satisfied smile floating on his lips, and then looked around until his eyes found Beckett.

"Officer," he called, beckoning her over.

She glanced at Johnson, got a light shrug in response, and worried her bottom lip as she made her way to the captain.

"Sir?"

"I'm moving you to Homicide for the day, Beckett. Next couple days, more likely. Two of their uniforms are down with the flu, and I got detectives complaining that they need more bodies."

Kate stayed silent for a second, processing the information, and briefly cut her eyes back to the Vice conference room. Today of all days.

"Sir-" she said, hesitated, torn between a strange sense of loyalty to the Vice squad and the excitement that bubbled in her stomach.

"I'm not asking your opinion, officer," he said tersely, turning and starting back to the elevator. "You're going up to Homicide. Now."

Beckett pressed her lips together, gave a stiff little nod. And she followed him.

* * *

Of course, Homicide was nothing like she'd hoped. That first day, she didn't even get to see the victim for herself; her role was to guard the crime scene and make sure no civilian interfered with the police's work.

And once the body had been taken to the morgue, and the crime scene had yielded all the evidence that it would, Beckett and her fellow uniforms were asked to canvas the neighborhood for possible eyewitnesses.

"Lucas, you take Beckett with you," the lead detective commanded before he and his partner got back into their car - probably riding back to the precinct to meet the family of the victim.

Beckett bristled at the words - she wasn't some child who needed to be watched over - but she forced herself to placidity, remembering Johnson's words. No one wanted to work with a touchy, irritable person.

And she _was _new to Homicide; she knew the theory, the procedures, but it wouldn't hurt to learn from someone who had the experience. As it quickly turned out, however, Officer Lucas wasn't exactly in the mood to share.

Tall with a long, narrow face, and eyes that squinted at her, Lucas didn't speak to Beckett except to tell her which side of the street he wanted her to work. She almost remarked aloud that _take Beckett with you_ most likely meant they were supposed to stick together, but since the guy was such poor company, she refrained.

It didn't matter.

She would learn on her own.

* * *

Two hours of _Were you home between the hours of 4 and 7 last night_ and _Do you remember noticing anything unusual _had her lips numb and her fingers stiff over the pen and notepad. The day was a surreptitious sort of cold, the mist seeping into her uniform and down to her bones when she wasn't looking; Beckett regretted forgetting her scarf at home that morning.

This was drudge work, of course, and most people would swear that nothing that seemed out of the ordinary when they'd come home from the office, but still - she found herself getting into it.

It would only take one person remembering a specific detail, a man or woman slightly more observant than their neighbors, to make a difference to the case. That knowledge egged Beckett on, kept her going even when her body threatened to shut down, its siren song for caffeine being left unanswered.

When she was done with the last building of the block - she had only been able to speak with eight of the twelve tenants, and she'd made a careful note of that - she met with Lucas back at the crime scene, recognized the sullen set of his shoulders before he'd even turned and seen her.

"Took you long enough," he muttered when she reached him, his step brisk as he started towards the closest subway station.

Beckett followed in silence, trying not to judge the sort of cop that Lucas would become.

It took time to interview people, put them at ease so that they would share even the little things, the details that they thought would make them sound silly but that could, in the end, prove vital to the case.

If Lucas wasn't willing to put himself through that, if he wasn't going to listen to the stories his witnesses had to tell - then why was he even here?

* * *

The most frustrating thing of all, Kate realized at the end of her first day in Homicide, was that she didn't get to see a case through. As a uniform, she'd be needed for canvases, for searching dumpsters and occasionally participating in an arrest; she wasn't there for the best part of it, the thinking process, the long observation of the murder board that would produce connections, theories.

She used any moment she had free to watch from afar as the detectives bounced ideas off each other, rearranged the elements of the case to make them make sense. This was what she longed for, the job she burned to be doing.

She wanted to make a difference.

And that was hard to do when she was up to her knees in old newspapers, crumpled cans and empty pizza boxes, no matter what she told herself. Sure, she'd helped, but it felt like anyone could've found that used wallet under the heap of withered flowers. While solving the case, connecting the dots...

That was something the detectives could really take pride in.

Beckett shook her head at herself and turned her back on the man cleaning up the murder board, glancing down at her watch. Shoot, was it nine already?

Darn. She'd gotten here at six thirty this morning, and if the captain saw her in here, he'd probably admonish her for staying after her shift was over.

Her stomach growled, confirming her decision to get out of the precinct, as soon as she could find the coat she'd thrown over a chair the last time she'd gotten in. She finally spotted it - chair had been moved, probably so someone could use it - and shrugged it on, her hand instinctively digging into her pocket for her phone.

She had a text, she saw as she headed for the elevator.

Castle, of course.

_Wanna have dinner with us tonight? I made too much pasta, and Alexis would like to hear some more of your cop stories._

Kate winced and checked when she'd gotten it. Over two hours ago. Yikes.

She rested her shoulder against the wood panels, pondered what to do as the elevator glided down. Alexis would probably be in bed by now, and as much as she wanted to see Castle, she could tell from the exhaustion singing in her bones that what her body really needed was a good night's sleep.

Besides, it wouldn't hurt to take a break from each other. Things had gotten pretty intense between them, and she was surprisingly okay with that, happy for it, even, but it didn't mean she'd be moving in with him any time soon.

Good lord, no.

Beckett went out through her usual security exit, since the main doors were closed after seven, and straightened the collar of her coat against the cool night wind.

She'd take the subway home, make herself dinner, and then she would call him, make up for letting his text go unanswered.

Yeah. That sounded like a plan.

* * *

Rick was lounging in front of the TV, watching some reality show that featured couples looking for their dream houses - some of which were really terrible, honestly, who would want that _ever_ - when his phone rang. It was the mysterious-sounding tune he'd associated with Kate, and he nearly jumped off the couch in his haste to get at the device that he'd left on the coffee table.

"Hey," he greeted breathlessly, rubbing his fingers against the knee he'd smashed into the glass table.

"Hi," Kate said, that delicious edge of laughter to her voice. "You running a marathon, Castle?"

"I wish," he answered, grabbing the remote to turn off the screen, where the woman, Brittany, was complaining loudly about the windows not being double-glazed. "Might need that to keep up with you, don't I?"

"I think you keep up just fine," she purred, the words rich and dark and sending a jolt of arousal to his belly.

He swallowed, memories of last night swirling in his mind, tried not to sound smug as he asked, "So, how was your day?"

"Busy," she said, but he could tell she was smiling. At him, maybe - he couldn't be sure. "They needed a few extra bodies in Homicide, so I got re-assigned for today. Probably tomorrow as well."

He'd been leaning back into the couch, but he sat up at the news, his breath hitching in excitement. "You get to work in homicide? Kate, that's awesome-"

"Don't get all worked up," she warned softly, and it was obvious that she'd spent the whole day telling herself that. "It's only a couple days, Castle. Doesn't mean anything."

"But if you're good - and you will be - maybe some detective, some guy in charge will notice you and want to keep you there-"

"Rick," she sighed, and he heard her waning resistance in that breath, how badly she wanted to believe him.

"Okay, okay," he agreed easily, not wanting to get her hopes up for nothing. "I won't say anything more. I'm just - I'm really happy for you, Kate."

There was a short silence, like she wasn't sure what to say to that, and then her voice came out, a little uncertain, a little raw.

"Thank you," she said.

Oh. She hadn't had someone be happy for her in a while, had she? Hadn't had anyone to share this kind of news with. Her hopes and dreams.

Her friend Lanie, maybe?

"Sorry I didn't answer your text earlier," she offered suddenly, breaking his depressing train of thought. "I left my phone in my coat, didn't get to it until I was on my way out. I hope Alexis-"

"Oh, don't worry, she was fine. Excited, actually, because I said you'd probably gotten a big case, and that was why you didn't have time to text or call. And it was true, wasn't it?"

"I guess, yeah," she agreed, but there was reluctance in the words, regret maybe.

"Kate," he insisted. "Really, it's fine. I'm not asking you to be Alexis's mother. I'm not asking you to show up for dinner every night, cut your hours - I know what your job means to you. I know how hard you've been working for this promotion. We're good."

The only thing he needed was to know that she was in this, that she was in as deep as he was, and she had - she'd more than proved herself last night.

"Kate?" he nudged when his reassurances were greeted with silence.

"Yeah," she answered, some of that breathy quality in her voice still. "I - thanks, Rick. For understanding, for not - pushing. I just..."

"What?" Her broken sentences made him nervous. "You just what?"

He rose from the couch, needing an outlet for all that anxious energy, even if it was just aimless walking.

"I want you to - be able to ask things of me," she said after a moment, slow and determined. "Things I...won't ask of myself. I hope you know that, Castle. You have a right to ask. I might not always say yes, I might get scared, but..."

This time when she paused he kept his mouth shut, waited on her, heart pounding in his chest as he slumped into the doorframe of his study.

"I'm in this, too," she finished, her voice firm and quiet, so beautiful. "I'm in this too, and - when something matters to you, to Alexis, if you really want me over for dinner and you've got your heart set on it, then you should let me know. Okay? Make me listen, Castle."

He remembered to breathe, and the air burned through his deprived lungs.

Holy shit, Kate.

"I will," he promised, had to clear his throat. "I'll let you know, Kate."

"Good," she breathed, and he was almost certain she'd closed her eyes in relief. "Good. I should go to bed," she added after a few seconds; he pictured her with her lip pulled between her teeth, that look she had when she didn't want to leave him.

"I wish you were here," he said without thinking, stupid really, when he'd just convinced her that she didn't need to be.

But she surprised him again. "Yeah?" she said, and there was a smile in there, for sure.

Maybe that lovely pressed-mouth smile, the one that seemed a compromise between shy and knowing, like a secret, gorgeous invitation for him to romance her. His heart stumbled at the thought.

"What would you do if I were there, Rick?" she asked softly, and wow - he'd been right.

He hummed thoughtfully, pushing himself off his office door and sliding into his bedroom. The lights were low and it was easy to imagine her, curled up under the covers, smiling at him in that peculiar way of hers.

"I'd hold you close," he answered, because he'd noticed the tired streak in her voice. "I'd wrap my arms around you, and kiss your neck, and breathe in your hair until you gave that little sigh you do, sometimes, and it feels like everything's so good that you're just giving in."

For a long moment he just listened to her breathing, the faint echo of it over the phone; he wondered if she was lying in bed.

"And then?" she prompted, the words like delicate presents after her silence.

He smiled. "I'd make you brush your teeth, wash your face. You wouldn't want to - you'd beg me to let you stay in bed - but I'd just gather you up in my arms and drop you into the bathroom, and you'd only pretend to fight me. I'd go back in the bedroom and change, and then I'd come to watch you in the mirror, rest my hand at the small of your back. You'd be warm."

Ah, damn - he could see it now, picture it exactly, how her eyes would look, dark wells with only the faintest trace of green to them, her hair mussed around her face, and he wanted it. Badly.

_Some other time, Rick._

Just when he was about to resume the story, she spoke.

"I'd let you take me to bed," she murmured, emotion threading her voice. "At first you'd want to cuddle and I'd push you away, tell you to leave me alone. I'd curl up on my side, like I always do, turn off the light. But then, when you'd be asleep and I could hear you breathing, soft and steady, maybe that cute little snoring sound you do sometimes - I'd roll over and curl at your back, slip a hand under your shirt so I could feel your warmth."

He'd closed his eyes, his whole being focused on her voice, its distinctive rise and fall, the lull of her soft intonations.

"And I'd fall asleep like that," she finished quietly. "With my nose at your shoulder blade."

"Sniffing my sweaty armpit, more like," he teased, but the words were slurred - he wasn't sure she could understand them.

She graced him with a laugh. "You're asleep already, Castle."

"No-o-o," he protested, hearing too late how childish he sounded. "Not sleeping, Kate. 'm here."

"Goodnight, Rick," she told him gently, and she hung up the phone.

He'd have complained about it - if he'd been awake.


	29. Chapter 29

Richard Castle woke up that morning with an idea brewing in his mind.

He let it simmer, didn't go anywhere near it, focusing instead on thoroughly teasing his daughter through breakfast - she'd gotten a green dress she loved so much that she'd been wearing it for three days in a row now, and he insisted that it must be a little smelly just to see Alexis's face scrunch up in defiance.

"It's not, Dad!" She finished chewing her mouthful before she said anything else - good girl, he'd raised her well - but she glared at him the whole time.

"Really?" he pushed, lips coming up into a smirk. "Cause I think I can see a stain, right under the collar..."

Alexis looked down, panic flashing in her eyes, and inspected the bright green fabric until she was certain he'd lied.

"That's not funny," she moaned, giving him a look, and he could hear a hint of actual disappointment in there.

Vaguely ashamed, but also greatly amused by his daughter's sensitivity over that dress - she didn't usually care so much about material things, except maybe her books - Castle skirted the table to give her a one-armed hug, press a loud kiss to her cheek.

"Sorry, pumpkin. But you know, if there truly was a stain, your dress could just go in the washing machine and the dryer, and be ready in a couple hours. You could survive a couple hours without wearing it, right?"

She huffed at him and then jumped off her chair, picking up her bowl and glass and spoon.

"Of course I could," she told him as she put her things in the dishwasher. "I just don't want to," she finished with a little glance at him, as if to say _isn't that obvious?_

Oh, his daughter cracked him up.

"Fair enough," he said, managing by some miracle to keep himself from laughing. "Is your stuff ready?"

"Yes, but I gotta brush my teeth before we leave."

"You can use my bathroom if you want."

Alexis grimaced at him. "Ew, no way. Your toothpaste tastes weird. I hate mint."

Right, he'd forgotten. "Fine, Miss Strawberry," he called to her as she hurried upstairs. "Whatever. You're no child of mine."

He got a light chuckle for his troubles, then turned away to do a quick tour of the kitchen, quickly rinsing the carafe of his coffee maker before he put it away to dry. There were things he didn't like to put in the dishwasher, because he felt like if he didn't rinse them right, and they spent all day drying dirty in the machine, then traces would remain even when the dishes were finally washed.

And once he started rinsing, he could never see the point of not washing that stuff completely.

Meredith had sometimes made fun of his little quirks, whenever she was actually paying attention - which wasn't often - and he found himself wondering with a light smile if Kate would call him obsessive over details like this.

Not that Kate was his new wife or anything. Jeez. Or that she would be living with them. Not - no.

Rick shook his head to get rid of those dangerous ideas, the way they bred like weeds, one sparking another, and was saved by the clear voice of his daughter as she flew down the stairs.

"Ready!"

Whew, yeah. He was ready too.

Maybe a little more than he'd thought.

* * *

When he got back from taking Alexis to school, he had that usual pause at the entrance of the loft, the silence impressing his heart, leaving him a little wistful.

It wasn't that his daughter was the loudest of children - she certainly wasn't - but she had such life to her, her presence so strong for her age. He would always remember that first day when he'd dropped her off at the school, her little hand waving at him, and the heavy mantle of solitude that had surrounded him when he'd come home.

Of course, he knew he'd get her back at three fifteen; he knew it wasn't forever.

But some day it would be, and that was what this little moment of self-commiseration was about - knowing that one day, he would get back to the loft without the certainty of his daughter's presence at dinner.

Anyway. He forced himself past it, getting his coat off as he walked towards his office; he had things to do. He'd been thinking about his idea for the whole subway ride back, and he was more and more convinced that it was a great one.

Kate had said last night that she would be working with Homicide again today, which meant she would likely be busy, and stay late because she had to show she was committed. He was fine with that - he would probably have stayed late too, had he been in her stead - but that wouldn't leave her with much time to find a dress, would it?

The Mayor's Charity Ball was tomorrow night, on Saturday. Admittedly, he didn't know what Kate's plans for tomorrow were, but if he had to bet - she'd probably be at the precinct again.

So, really, if he went dress shopping for her... that'd be doing her a favor, right? Helping her out.

Which would be nice of him. Wouldn't it?

He huffed in annoyance at his own hesitation; he wasn't usually so insecure about bestowing expensive gifts on beautiful women. But Kate - everything was different with her, and he couldn't be certain she'd welcome it.

Her birthday was November 17th (yeah, okay, so he'd peeked at her stuff while she was in the shower), which was some ten months away; he'd never get away with that.

Would she be okay with getting a present without a reason? He had this sudden image of her adamantly declaring that she would pay him back, and her voice echoed so realistically in his mind that he winced, flopped into his desk chair.

That wouldn't do at all.

If he was reasonable, though - if the dress was under, say, five hundred dollars? - maybe he could make it fly. And she needed it, too. If everything happened like he thought it might, if she got swamped in work and found herself with nothing to wear, she wouldn't be able to say no.

Okay, he thought, a sneaky smile playing on his lips. He could do that. He could work on a budget.

* * *

Castle was trying to determine if there was anyway a Chanel dress could be considered as keeping within his budget when his phone rang in his pocket. He fished it out, mentally putting a lie together in case it was Kate calling, but it wasn't.

_Black Pawn,_ the screen flashed at him.

Oh, shit. Was there a meeting today he was supposed to be at? He remembered getting a phone call from Gina a couple nights ago, and distractedly agreeing to whatever she'd been saying - there'd been something about a meeting, for sure, but when-

He answered, wincing.

"Richard, where _are you_?" Gina's voice came, that sharp, controlled anger to her tone that made him want to recoil. "We've been waiting for the past fifteen minutes - I _told_ you ten thirty, and you agreed to it-"

Uh-oh. He was in trouble.

"I'm on my way," he lied easily, turning away from the Chanel boutique and hailing the first cab that came into view. "I'm sorry I didn't call to say I was late - I swear, I was going to, but I was writing and forgot the time."

He got into the car that had stopped in front of him, covered his phone with his hand as he gave the driver the address of the Black Pawn offices. Thank god, they weren't far, but traffic looked horrendous.

"I'll pay double if you can get me there in the next ten minutes," he told the guy, and then had to wrap his fingers around the door handle as the cabbie extricated them from the crowded line, a risky maneuver that could probably have cost them both their lives.

When he put the phone to his ear again, Gina had hung up.

He couldn't manage to be sorry for it.

* * *

Honestly, he wasn't sure why his presence mattered so much. He hardly ever got to say a word in these meetings; it was generally all lawyer-y talk, subtle plays on words and technicalities that he had no interest in, punctuated by interventions of Gina - who, of course, had to pretend like she was in control.

He waited patiently until it was over, couldn't help but notice it went rather smoothly this time. Black Pawn had resigned themselves to the loss of Derrick Storm, seemed like - he couldn't see another reason why Gina wouldn't insist more on him waiting until the fourth book was done to kill his main character.

She must find Nikki Heat more promising than she'd let show in her emails.

He grinned to himself, proud of his creation, felt that familiar itch that could only be soothed with a keyboard and a blank page staring at him.

"Are we done here?" he stage-whispered to his lawyer, Spencer, a young guy with awful taste in glasses but an incredible ability to find loopholes in pretty much every legal document.

Three pairs of eyes turned to him, none of them very friendly, and Castle heaved a deep sigh, sank back into his chair.

Guess not.

* * *

"Richard," Gina called as he was heading towards the elevator, and freedom.

He closed his eyes briefly, found a smile - however fake it was - before he turned back to her.

"Yes?"

"I got a phone call from Paula, saying she couldn't get in touch with you. You remember her? Paula Haas. Your agent."

Gina gave her that knowing, _I know you've been avoiding her_ look, and he pretended he had no idea what on earth she meant. The usual.

"Oh, really? I guess I must have missed her call-"

"I said I'd have you call her," his publisher said, crossing her arms, a shrewd little smile curling her mouth.

Damn. "Ah, the thing is, I have plans for lunch, and I should really go if I don't want to be late..."

"Really? Who're you meeting?"

He opened his mouth, mind suddenly blank, frenetically searching for an answer that would-

"I'm - huh - just-" Arg, damn it. Gina's brown eyes were sharp on his, seeing right through him, and he gave up the charade.

"Fine," he sighed, reluctantly retrieving his phone from his pocket. "I'll call her."

He found Paula in his contacts, pressing the call button, then arched his eyebrow at his publisher who was still leaning against her office door, clearly not determined to move.

"Could I possibly have some privacy?"

"No," she answered mildly, as if he'd asked for a pen. "I have no trust in you, Rick Castle."

Fine. He turned his back on her, took a few steps so he could rest his shoulder to the wall.

"Ricky!" Paula's shrill voice greeted at the other end of the line, scolding or enthusiastic, he wasn't sure. "About _time_ you call me back. I've got about a dozen invitations just sitting on my desk, waiting to be answered, and then there's this night show anchor who wants you as his guest, and this journalist was begging for an interview-"

"Whoa, Paula, slow down, okay?" He rubbed his fingers to his eyebrow, could feel the headache threatening already. "You know I told you I don't want to do all these parties anymore - I hate to leave Alexis with babysitters-"

"Rick, I hear you, but baby, you gotta give me something out here. How am I supposed to _promote _you if you won't cooperate? God didn't give you that pretty face so you could hide at home with your daughter-"

"Okay, okay," he cut her hurriedly, because there was something in the way Paula talked of Alexis that just - irritated the crap out of him. "Fine. I'll - I'll go to one of your events, _one, _and it better be something tame, something..."

"Two," Paula said, her voice harsher now that she was negotiating. "Two events, Rick, and you've got yourself a deal."

He made a face, ran his hand through his hair. "Fine, two. But not in the same week." He wanted to be home in case Kate was free, in case she wanted to come over for dinner. Oh, Kate-

"Hey, actually. You know that thing the mayor's holding tomorrow, that charity ball?"

"Yes?" his agent drawled. "You got an invite to that, but you declined, remember?"

_Idiot_ seemed to be implied in her tone, but he didn't even care.

"Yeah, well. I want back in on that. Good for my reputation, right? Lots of public figures and big fortunes hanging out in one place."

And one officer who he really looked forward to seeing in an evening dress.

"Rick, that's tomorrow night - you can't expect me to weasel you back in-"

"Paula, I love you," he said, grinning into the phone. "I know you can do anything. That's what I pay you for."

And on that, he hung up, not interested in hearing her dramatic protests - they were all for show. He'd asked much worse of her before.

"Satisfied?" he said, turning back to Gina, who was still watching him.

She quirked a fine eyebrow at him. "Delighted."

"Good. I'll see you around, then."

"Rick," she called again when he was at the elevator, pressing the call button. He didn't turn back.

"What?"

"You need a date to that charity thing?"

Oh.

He was surprised she would even offer, seeing as she'd pretty much stormed out on him that time at the restaurant, but this was Gina - business always came first with her. And she probably thought it would be a good business move to go together.

Maybe so, but he couldn't be sure which way Kate would react if she saw him with another woman.

Better not risk it.

"No, thanks," he answered, glancing at her over his shoulder. "I think I'll fly solo this time."

She gave a brief little nod and retreated into her office as he stepped into the elevator, eager for some silence and fresh air.

Maybe he could buy Kate lunch and drop by the precinct.

* * *

"Delivery for an Officer Kate Beckett." The voice resounded loudly through the bullpen, and Kate's head swiveled - along with a dozen others. Great.

This was the first moment she'd had to breathe in the last two days - she hadn't even been able to see Castle yesterday because she'd been at a crime scene when he'd texted about lunch. Homicide was intense, more so than she'd expected, but Beckett had always liked a challenge.

Kate lifted herself from her chair in the conference room (one of the uniforms had bought Chinese food for everyone, and they were enjoying, or rather gobbling down, a late lunch) and made her way to the man who stood in the corridor.

Well-dressed, black pants and a white shirt with a grey, v-neck sweater on top. Couldn't be more than twenty-five.

"I'm Kate Beckett," she said, and he turned to her with a relieved look on his face.

"Man, you're a hard woman to find! The guy at the front door told me you were working in Vice, but when I asked around they said you were here instead-"

"Where do I sign?" Kate interrupted with a small smile, conscious that everybody's eyes were fixed on her. At least, every uniform's eyes.

"Um, here-" the young man fished a pen and paper out of his pocket, handed them to her, lowering the box he was holding so she could use it as table. "And on the back, as well."

She did as she was told, eyeing the rectangular box all the while. "Who is this from?" She hadn't ordered anything.

"I'm not allowed to tell," the delivery guy grinned, like this was the best news of her life. Beckett refrained from rolling her eyes. Darn. Had to be Castle.

"Well - there you go," he said, looking almost disappointed as he folded the paper again and gave her the box. As if he regretted that his mission had come to an end. "Have a good day, Miss Beckett!"

"Yeah, thanks," she muttered, her attention on the mysterious package as she turned. What the hell could it be?

"Got a present from your boyfriend, Beckett?" Officer Brown teased, his dark eyes laughing at her.

"It's from Santa," she shot back with an eyebrow raised. "Because I've been such a good girl. You wouldn't know, Brown - I'm sure Santa never stopped by your house."

He laughed good-humoredly, followed by a few others, but they all went silent when a detective poked his head at the door of the conference room. "Hey guys, sorry to interrupt, but we need a couple of you to go pick up a suspect at the corner of Madison and East 40th St."

Brown stood up, followed by Johnson, who'd finished eating. "We'll go."

"Great." The detective turned to Kate. "Oh, and Beckett. Cap said to tell you you have the afternoon off, and tomorrow as well. So you need to, I quote, get your ass out of here."

If she'd been less in control of herself, Beckett might have blushed - she hated to be exposed like that, to have messages given to her by a third party, and in front of people who had every reason to be jealous of her.

But she only nodded, and although Brown commented on her being lucky, there wasn't any malice in his voice, nor was there in the others' eyes.

She grabbed her coat and went to the elevator with the box cradled against her chest, her heart surprisingly light. She'd always said it didn't matter what others thought of her, and she meant that - but there was truth to John Donne's words as well.

No man is an island.

* * *

She waited until she was home to open the box. It taunted her through the whole subway ride, but she didn't want any one else to see what was in it - it was hers.

There was a card with it, though, and that she did look at.

She'd been right: it was from Castle. _Save a dance for me, _it read.

What did that mean? Was he coming to the Mayor's Charity Ball too? And if so - why hadn't he told her before? Or maybe he just meant for her to come and see him at the loft, when the party was over.

She smiled to herself. That had to be it - he just wanted to see her dressed in an evening gown-

Oh, shit. The dress.

Oh damn, she'd completely forgotten-

Her eyes fell on the box again, and narrowed. Surely he hadn't?

Thank god, this was her stop. She dashed towards the exit, jogged up the stairs, zigzagging between the people who were making their way out at a slower pace.

A few minutes later she was climbing the stairs to her apartment, breathlessly sliding her key into the lock. She slammed the door shut behind her, kicking off her work shoes, and then she sank into the couch with the box on her lap, her coat still on.

Her heart leapt in her throat.

Jeez, Castle.

She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and yanked the lid off the white, elegant package.

Oh. He had.

The air rushed out of her lungs as she lifted a hesitant hand, skimmed her fingertips over the fabric. The top layer was sheer, a transparent black trimmed with velvet patterns, long leaves and flowers that felt so very soft to the touch; the base underneath was a deep grey, a perfect backdrop for the dark, shimmering velvet.

It was beautiful.

It was - elegant and gorgeous and not too much, something she'd actually be comfortable wearing at the event tonight. Kate traced the lovely v-neck with her index finger, then brusquely took her hand back.

Wait. No.

She couldn't.

She grabbed the box and dumped it on the coffee table, stood up long enough to slip off her coat, retrieve her phone from its pocket. Pulling her bottom lip between her teeth, she hit speed dial 3.

"He bought me a dress," she declared point-blank, the moment Lanie answered her cell.

"Well, hello to you too," her friend drawled, the lift of her eyebrow almost visible in her voice. "Who bought you a dress? Sex-god Richard Castle?"

Kate felt her cheeks heat up.

"_Don't call him that_," she hissed in the phone. "Yes, Castle. He and I are - we're - um, together. Dating. I guess."

There was a surprised silence on Lanie's side; her voice, when it came, was softer than before.

"Oh, honey. That's wonderful. I'm happy for you."

Beckett nervously twirled a lock of hair around her finger, couldn't help the smile that broke on her lips. "Yeah, it's been...good. Really good." She remembered the way he'd looked in her kitchen, smiling and relaxed and devouring her with his eyes; it made her breath catch.

"So what do I do about the dress?" she asked, shaking her head to dispel all the stupid romanticism.

"Right. Well. What sort of dress is it?"

Oh. Lanie didn't have any of the context.

"Um, it's... Okay, so Captain Montgomery asked me to be his date at this, event, tonight - the Mayor's Annual Charity Ball, whatever. It's only because his wife is sick. Anyway, I happened to tell Castle about it, and I complained that I didn't have anything to wear, which led to me trying on every dress I have so he could see-"

"Wait," her friend interrupted, delight sparking in her voice. "You're telling me you gave Richard Castle a little fashion show of your own? Oh girl, you have it bad."

Kate pressed her lips together, couldn't really disprove that.

"So what?" Lanie went on. "He saw that you didn't have anything appropriate, and he went to buy you a dress?"

Yeah. "That's...kind of it, yeah." Damn, and now she had this vision playing before her eyes, Castle hitting the stores and carefully picking a dress that he thought would look good on her-

"That's adorable!" The ME exclaimed in the phone. "What's the problem, then? Is the dress that bad?"

Beckett opened her mouth, struggled to find something to say. "I - no. No, it's...beautiful, actually." She knelt down by the coffee table, slid her free hand through the straps of the dress so she could hold it up. Even the length was right; the dress would probably stop just above her knees. "But Lanie, I can't take gifts from him," she objected, worrying her bottom lip. "We've only known each other what, a month? I just - I don't want him to think he has to buy me with presents..."

"Girlfriend, I swear. Sometimes you drive me crazy. Just take the dress, will you? Jeez, any other woman would complain about her boyfriend never getting her anything, and you're freaking out over the sweetest, most thoughtful gift I've ever heard of."

"But-"

"So what if it's Chanel or some expensive brand? The guy is _loaded_, Kate. Money probably doesn't mean anything to him-"

Kate gasped, her fingers eagerly feeling for a tag, couldn't believe she hadn't thought that.

"Oh," she sighed in relief when she found the name of the brand - no price, of course. "It's not Chanel. Not anything I know, actually, so that...has to be good, right?"

She could almost hear Lanie shaking her head on the other side.

"Look, honey, if you don't want to wear the dress, no one is going to make you. All I'm saying is, it's pretty sweet of the guy to have taken the time to shop for you. And he obviously knows you well enough to stay clear of couture designers, which in my book is another point for him. But again - your choice, Kate."

Beckett ran her hand over the soft material, wondering how the dress would look on her. Problem was, if she tried it on, she wasn't sure she'd be able to take it off again.

"Okay, I gotta go," her friend said after a few seconds. "Work calls. You have fun at that party, Kate Beckett, you hear me?"

Kate smiled. "Do my best," she promised. "I'll talk to you soon."

"You better," Lanie shot back. "I wanna hear all about this new _boyfriend _of yours_._"

And then she hung up, leaving Beckett to blush quietly in the privacy of her apartment.

Her boyfriend, huh?


	30. Chapter 30

Castle nervously checked his watch, merely a flick of his eyes down and then up again - he was so reluctant to detach his gaze from the grand staircase that led into the ballroom.

Six twenty, and she wasn't here yet.

He'd been among the first to arrive, probably the only time in his life that he'd shown so much eagerness for a party, especially one thrown by the city. The room was still far from full, but there were now enough guests moving around that he feared he would miss Kate and her captain if he stopped watching the entrance for only a moment.

Not that she'd be hard to find. The way he was drawn to her, he would only have to look around once to find her slim figure.

Yeah. He probably should have gone to the buffet, or exchanged his empty glass for a new flute of champagne, started mingling with people. He was usually good at mingling. He needed to be cool about this, not be here staring at the door like some pervert.

He couldn't get his feet to move.

Would she be wearing the dress?

Choosing it had been somewhat of a dilemma; he'd ended up asking a kind-looking saleswoman to show him the best dresses under five hundred dollars, because he was naturally, irresistibly attracted to the more expensive ones. And then among the selection the young woman had shown him, he'd been torn again - there was this one gown he found absolutely gorgeous, a brilliant green silk embroidered with gold, with a v-neck that dipped low and would have looked amazing on Kate.

But he didn't know if she'd be comfortable wearing it - this was why he'd decided against a floor-length dress in the first place. She was coming with her boss, as an officer of the NYPD; he was fairly sure her goal wasn't to impress New York's elite.

Besides, there was another gown he loved, a subtle, two-layered thing with a black tulle superimposed on a deep grey silk that would make her look elegant and in control, would show off the pale cream of her skin; after an hour's worth of hesitation he'd gone for that one, and he was now starting to regret his choice.

Maybe she'd hated it. Maybe she thought he was an arrogant jerk, maybe she'd decided not to come after all-

His thoughts came to a sudden halt when she appeared at the top of the stairs, tall and lithe and oh, oh - she _was_.

She was wearing his dress.

Triumph roared in its chest, tightly laced with that burst of male ego that he wasn't proud of, but couldn't do anything about.

She was wearing his dress.

And it suited her in ways he hadn't even expected, the fabric embracing the graceful curve of her hip, leaving out just enough of her endless legs to tease the onlooker. She'd found black stiletto heels that were a perfect match for it, thin straps around her delicate ankles, and he wondered at her unerring grace as she came down the stairs, her arm loosely hooked around that of a black, older man who had to be her police captain, Roy Montgomery.

She looked faintly uncomfortable, but then Montgomery said something to her that sparked a true smile on her face. Rick watched, dazed, as her mouth parted on a glimpse of her teeth, her dark hair dancing around her neck with her silent laugh.

Stunning.

Her eyes wandered across the room, wide and bright with the reflected lights, a hint of childlike admiration that she couldn't completely hide, and that occasional flicker of surprise when she recognized someone - maybe a baseball player, maybe a well-known politician. He couldn't take his gaze off her to find out.

Then at last her eyes stopped on him, a deep sea green, unreadable, but even from a distance he could see it.

He could see her chest hitch with that soft intake of breath.

She and Montgomery reached the bottom of the stairs and the moment was lost, gone, the connection broken as the mayor came forward to greet them and she was swallowed in the crowd; still Castle didn't move, didn't breathe, startled at the feeling that had sprung in his chest.

This was it.

She was.

She was-

everything.

* * *

Her captain introduced her to every new person they encountered as _one of his most promising officers at the 12th_.

It was lucky Beckett was not the sort to blush.

Still, after an hour of hand-shaking and strained smiles, her cheeks were starting to hurt; she looked around, locating the buffet at their right, and told Roy she was going on a food mission. He asked her to bring him back some of the salmon canapés he'd seen the mayor with.

Smiling to herself, Kate wound her way through the crowd, excuses readily spilling from her lips, couldn't help glancing around for a certain writer. She hadn't seen Castle since they'd arrived, and she was torn between disappointment and relief.

He'd looked very dashing, standing a little ways from the stairs, his charcoal suit open on a white shirt that somehow brought out the blue in his eyes; she'd been half-expecting to see him, hoping or fearing, she couldn't be sure, and yet the sight of him had - sent a shiver down to her very toes.

But she was here as Montgomery's date, she reminded herself firmly, and did she really want Roy and Castle to meet?

She still wasn't clear on that. So she had to be grateful that Rick had stayed away.

She reached the food displays and was immediately offered a plate by a tall, gangly waiter with a nice smile. She thanked him and took it, scanning the various platters for the canapés that the captain had his eye on. She filled half the plate with those, then chose a few of her own, trying the caviar ones before she decided against them.

She kept casting little looks around, wondering that Castle hadn't come forward, now that she was alone. But maybe he was busy chatting with other people - he probably knew a good number of the guests. More than she did, surely.

She lingered as much as she could, but she was starving, and Montgomery was probably the same. They were a team, right? She was his back-up tonight. Kate gave up with a sigh and slowly made her way back, trying not to spill her plate of food and non-alcoholic cocktail.

She'd had a glass of champagne before - couldn't really say no when it was the mayor handing it to her - and she did not plan on drinking more tonight. Oh, she could hold her alcohol, but it wasn't the issue. This was work; she'd never risk making a fool of herself.

Because she was so focused on her fragile cargo, it was only on reaching the captain that she next lifted her eyes. And she nearly dropped everything when she saw who was standing next to Montgomery.

Oh god. Castle.

"Ah, Beckett," Roy smiled when he caught sight of her. "Look who I have here. Maybe you've heard of him - Rick Castle, the author of the _Storm_ series. My wife loves your books," he added, turning back to the writer.

"Always nice to meet the husband of a fan," Castle joked, with that easy smile that crinkled his blue eyes.

When he turned it to Kate, though, it got deeper, richer, and she mindlessly juggled her plate and glass to shake his head. He said nothing, leaving it up to her, and she took a sharp breath, made her choice.

"Actually," she said, hoping the captain couldn't hear the way her voice caught in her throat, "Castle and I know each other."

"You do?" Montgomery looked from her to the writer and back, more consideration than surprise in his eyes. "How's that?"

"Um," she hedged, narrowing her eyes at the amused look that flashed on Castle's face. "It's...a long story. We kind of, ran into each other while I was undercover for Vice."

"Really?" Roy said, with a a lifted eyebrow and a smile on his lips that she didn't much like. "So maybe _you_'re the reason Mr. Castle's now trying to angle for a spot at the 12th with us."

Trying to angle - what?

"What?" she said, cutting her eyes to Castle. He looked a little panicked, that deer-in-the-headlight sort of the thing. Hadn't meant for Montgomery to give him away so fast, huh?

"See, Mr. Castle is apparently writing a book about a young Homicide detective," the captain declared, clearly finding the whole thing very entertaining. "And he was asking me if it would be possible to ride along with one of my detectives at the 12th, to get a - what was it, Rick? - a better sense of the job, of the 'risks and rewards' of belonging to New York's finest. I think I got that right."

Beckett gaped at both of them, anger licking at her chest at being ambushed this way - what the hell did Castle think he was _doing_-

"And is it?" she blurted, suddenly desperate. "Possible, I mean? We don't - we don't do this kind of thing, sir, do we?"

"Well, I don't know," Montgomery said, falsely thoughtful. "It would have to be agreed to the commissioner, and maybe even the mayor, but - I suppose if Mr. Castle was ready to sign a document attesting that he knows the risks inherent to following a cop around..."

"Which I would," Castle inserted eagerly. Beckett glared at him.

"Then, really, I can't see why not," Roy finished. "Provided, of course, that Castle do not get in the way of our investigations."

"Which I wouldn't," the writer promised virtuously, the innocent look in his blue eyes making her grit her teeth. The hell he wouldn't - she could already picture him with his hands all over the crime scenes-

"Sir-" she tried to object, her words strangling with panic in her throat, but Montgomery had finally caught sight of the canapés in her hand.

"Oh, those are the salmon things, aren't they? Wonderful," he sighed happily, sliding one in his mouth and retrieving the plate from Kate's hold. "I'm starving. Hmm, is that the mayor waving? I'd better go see what he wants. I'll see you two in a minute," he said, and then he was gone, confidently pushing through the crowd.

Beckett was left with her mouth open, furious and helpless, her fingers trembling around her drink.

Seriously?

She slowly turned to Castle, saw him studiedly not looking her way, that sheepish curl to his mouth.

Oh, he was _so_ dead.

* * *

The silence between them lingered, weighing heavily on him, making his insides twist with dread. He was too much of a coward to look at her, but he could feel her eyes on him, could feel it building, and shit, he had to do something-

"May I have this dance?"

Castle's head jerked, the smooth masculine voice immediately grating at his nerves, that misplaced sense of possessiveness creeping in. The voice belonged to a kid with a chiseled jaw and an unfair pair of grey eyes - couldn't be more than eighteen - who smiled sweetly as he offered his hand to Kate.

She glanced at Castle, and the hint of challenge on her face had him impulsively jump in.

"Actually," he said, forcing a smile onto his lips as he rested a hand at Kate's waist, "I'm sorry, kid, but she was saving this one for me. Maybe next time."

The orchestra was playing a slow piece, more violin to it than Rick usually cared for, but he still curled his fingers around Kate's hand and led her onto the nearly-empty dance floor.

Her body was stiff against his, the line of her shoulders taut with repressed anger, but she still let him draw her close, lightly rested her hand on his shoulder, and he was stunned at the relief that trickled through him.

Even mad at him, she wasn't pushing him away; she was giving him a chance to explain first, or maybe giving herself a chance to speak her mind. Either way was fine with him.

He twirled her slowly on the floor, noticing how well she moved with him, despite the furious press of her mouth, the eyes that stared firmly above his shoulder.

When he finally opened his mouth to speak, she beat him to it.

"Castle, what are you doing?" she murmured, some of her frustration leaking into her voice.

"I believe it's called dancing," he answered spontaneously, immediately regretting it when annoyance flashed in her dark eyes. "Look, Kate, I was just... I was just asking him. I was curious-"

"Curious. About riding along with a detective at the 12th? And you want me to believe this idea just - happened to pop in your mind?"

She was looking at him now, her chin set defiantly, and god - she was so gorgeous.

He cleared his throat. "No," he admitted, couldn't lie to her. "I've been thinking about it for a while, true. It's - it's usually how I work, Kate. That's how I get my books to be as realistic as I can, by observing someone I take as inspiration for my character, making notes - living their lives for a week or two."

Or sometimes more, but Kate didn't need to know that right now.

"And you couldn't _tell me_ that?" she argued quietly, a hint of hurt to her words that made his heart hitch. "You couldn't let me know first, before going to my boss about it?"

"Again, I was just _asking_-"

"Well you should've asked me first," she declared, her eyes glittering, that stubborn line to her brow. "This is _my_ job, Castle. What did I tell you about coming to my workplace?"

He pressed his lips together, tried to refrain from pouting. "You said not to show up if you've not given me the all-clear."

"Yes. I've told you - jeez, you know how hard it is, how hard it can be to make a spot for yourself in this kind of world, and you still wanna rock my boat? I'm not even a detective, Castle."

She'd stopped dancing, had slipped her hand out of his; he wanted it back.

"But you will be," he objected, even though that wasn't really the point.

She opened her mouth, closed it, threaded her fingers through her hair as she shook her head at him.

"Castle, I appreciate the vote of confidence, but right now... Nothing's certain. And - even if I'm promoted tomorrow, it'll still take a while for me to get my bearings, learn how to be a good detective, and I'm not gonna want you around for that."

He peered at her, suddenly hopeful. "Is that your way of telling me you might want me around later?"

She sighed, her eyes sliding shut for a moment.

"I was on the phone with Lanie earlier," she told him softly. "You know what she called you? My boyfriend."

He couldn't help grinning at the thought. Her boyfriend. Uh-huh. He had the sexiest cop for a girlfriend. His life was awesome-

"Do you have any idea what people will say, Castle, if I have my boyfriend come shadow me at work? If I tell them he's writing a book about me?"

Oh. He met her eyes and saw the very real apprehension there, a dark swirl of dread that sobered him, brought him back to earth. Her career was only just starting, and she had plans, she wanted to catch her mother's killer - he couldn't risk ruining that.

"You're right," he acknowledged in a murmur, disappointment thick in his throat. "I can see that."

"Yeah?" She looked up at him, something so vulnerable and beseeching in her face, and he just - he couldn't do this to her.

"Yeah," he promised, his fingers brushing the dress he'd bought for her, bringing her closer. The tune was different now, more catchy than the one before, but all he wanted was to hold her there, cradle her to his chest and never move again.

"I won't shadow you, Kate," he said, nudging her temple with his nose - the heels made her every inch as tall as he was, and he found that completely arousing. Equal footing. "At least not until it's okay, not until your position at the 12th can withstand it. Okay?"

"Okay," she sighed, and he could feel the tension leaving her body, the way she canted into him, soft and pliant again. "Thanks."

"But you gotta tell me everything that happens," he prompted with a smile. "You'll be my only source of information, so that means you'll have to answer my questions. All my questions. And I want detailed reports on what it's like, the arrests, putting the clues together, getting a confession-"

"I'm not a detective yet," she reminded him, that lovely edge of laughter to her words.

"But you will be," he said, his confidence unshakable.

She pulled back slightly, just enough to find his eyes with hers, give him that look that seemed equal parts puzzlement and that soft glow of pleasure.

"I will be," she confirmed, steel in her voice again. "And when I am, Castle, I'll tell you all about it, everything I can think of. You'll be drowned in boring details and asking for mercy before you know it-"

"Never," he chuckled, tugging on her so he could brush his lips to her hair, breathe her in. "Never, Kate. I'll never get enough of you."

He felt the stutter of her breath at his neck, the curl of her fingers around his shirt, and even if he'd told himself he wouldn't kiss her, wouldn't expose her to the rumor, he couldn't help pressing his mouth to the delicate shell of her ear.

He wanted her to come home with him.


	31. Chapter 31

The night was cold, but the complete absence of wind made it all right to stand on the sidewalk for a minute, and it didn't take longer than that for Castle's car to come to a stop in front of them.

Castle's limo, rather.

"Seriously?" Kate muttered under her breath, felt the width of his hand at her hip, ushering her inside the door he'd just opened.

"It's just a reputation thing," he assured her with a little grin. "Don't pay attention."

She slid onto the comfortable seat and then scooted to make room for him, but the door was already closing on her. Twisting her neck, she saw him circle around the back of the car to reach the other door, and rolled her eyes. Jeez.

He settled next to her, that eager shine to his eyes that she couldn't help but find adorable, and told the driver to take them home.

Home.

The word rippled through her, a faint twitch of her heart, a stillness in her lungs; she kept very quiet, her hands resting flat and immobile on her thighs.

Castle turned his head to her, must have read something into her silence, because he asked, a sudden nervousness to this voice, "You're coming to the loft with me, right?"

She pressed her lips together, unwilling to put him out of his misery. He hadn't really asked before, had only gotten permission from Montgomery to deprive him of his date, and she wasn't above punishing Rick a little for assuming so much.

"Kate," he pleaded, leaning in so his mouth was at her ear, his breath warm and caressing against her skin. "I want you."

Her eyes slid shut, her whole body tensed in a shiver - how she wanted him too - and she couldn't control the answer that fell from her lips.

"Yes," she murmured, fingers moving, hooking at the belt of his dress pants. "I'm coming."

And then she heard how it sounded, almost blushed in the darkness of the car as he laughed quietly against her.

"Oh, yes," he confirmed, that smirk to his voice, eyes so dark as he devoured her. "That you are."

Alexis was still awake when they came in, but only barely. Curled up on the couch with her eyes half-closed, clad in matching grey pajamas, she reminded Beckett of a cute little kitten; it turned out she'd been waiting for them. Castle had told his daughter about the dress he'd bought for Kate, and the girl had evidently convinced her grandmother to let her stay up so she could see for herself.

"Ohhh, it's beautiful," she sighed, sitting up as Beckett took off her coat. She lifted a hand to her mouth, covering a yawn, but her eyes were wide open now, bright with admiration. "You look really beautiful, Kate."

Beckett smiled, strangely touched by the earnest compliment, and spun slowly to give the girl a better view.

"Wonderful," Martha echoed with a look of approval. Her eyes went from Kate to her son and back, and she gracefully stood up from the couch, her movements studied and deliberate as if she were on stage.

"Well, I should probably go," she declared with a knowing smile. "Alexis, honey, do you need my help upstairs?"

"Hmm, no," the girl said after a few seconds, still lost in her contemplation of Kate's dress. "I brushed my teeth and everything. I'm just gonna crawl into bed and fall right asleep."

"Very good," Martha said, leaning in to brush a kiss to her granddaughter's hair. "Well, goodnight, darling."

"Night, Gram."

"Richard, Kate," the actress nodded.

"Goodnight, Mother. And thanks for tonight," Castle said softly.

Beckett smiled at the older woman; Martha's hand brushed against hers as she walked by, and squeezed Kate's fingers for the briefest moment. The touch came as a surprise, warm and dry, not unwelcome - it was over before Kate could return it.

She half-turned to stare at the vanishing form of Castle's mother, but Martha didn't turn back, didn't give her any other sort of acknowledgment. The door closed behind the actress, followed by the sound of the locks turning, and Kate shook her head to dispel the strange feeling tugging at her guts.

Family.

Alexis looked ready to collapse, and Castle moved closer, his hand gently nudging his daughter's shoulder. "Hey. You still with us, pumpkin?"

The girl blinked, awareness spreading back into her eyes, and she gave Kate a sheepish smile. "Yeah. I guess I just really need my bed. Will you be here tomorrow morning?"

Beckett gaped, her eyes seeking Castle's in a quest for help, but he only shrugged, this _up to you_ gesture that made her want to hit him. Fine then.

"Um, I...might," she answered carefully, looking only at Alexis. "My boss gave me the day off tomorrow, so I don't have to go to the precinct. Cool, huh?" She saw Castle's movement of surprise - true, she hadn't told him either - but she ignored it.

"Awesome," Alexis grinned. "Maybe Dad can make us pancakes!"

She threw a sly look to her father, and this time, Kate noted with a certain pleasure, it was Castle's turn to blush and stutter.

"Ah - Alexis-"

"It's okay, Dad. You don't have to pretend like Kate's sleeping in the guest room. You bought her a dress yesterday, and you spent an hour choosing your shirt and tie for tonight."

Oh, really? An hour? Beckett couldn't help the smirk that formed on her lips.

"So I know you guys are together," Alexis finished casually, even though the proud little glint in her eyes revealed how pleased she was with her own maturity. "Like, dating and all that."

Um. Okay. Kate shared an hesitant look with Castle, stepped forward. "Is that...okay with you?"

She didn't mean to ask Alexis's permission to date the girl's father, not exactly. But Alexis should know her opinion mattered to Kate.

"Sure," the girl shrugged, her beaming look belying her studied cool. "I'm really glad Dad's found someone who's - good for him. And someone I like," she added in her rushed breath, her cheeks flaming and her eyes suddenly riveted to the floor.

Kate parted her mouth, unsure what to say. Except-

"Well, thank you. I like you too, Alexis."

Oh god, she sounded like an idiot. But the clear blue eyes flicked up again, such guarded hope in them that Beckett's heart stumbled.

"I don't sing Disney songs with just anyone," she added, lifting a playful eyebrow. "Ask your dad. He's been begging me for it, but I'm not giving in."

That did it. Alexis laughed, amusement dissipating the poorly-concealed need on her face, and Kate could breathe again. She turned to Castle, who was doing a rather terrible job of hiding his own emotion, and bobbed her head expectantly.

"Okay, pumpkin, bedtime," he announced after clearing his throat. "I'll come tuck you in-"

"Dad, I'm not a baby," his daughter declared with a swing of her long braid. "I can go to bed on my own. You just - stay here with Kate. I'll be fine."

A fugitive smile crossed her face, and before Castle could react, Alexis darted towards the stairs, her bare feet light on the hardwood floors.

She threw one last goodnight over her shoulder before she disappeared upstairs, and Kate was left grinning at the girl and her sneaky, matchmaker ways.

Castle didn't look so happy. He turned to her, his face the very picture of disheartenment, and whispered, "I feel old."

Kate had to sink her teeth into her bottom lip, keep herself from laughing at him. He was a good man, a good father - overdramatic at times, yes, but what did it matter? She was fairly confident she could talk him out of it.

Seduce him out of it.

She smoothed a hand down the dress he'd bought, loving the feeling of soft fabric against her skin, and stepped closer, slowly, until she could snake an arm around his neck and press her mouth to the underside of his jaw.

"Old, huh?"

His adam's apple bobbed heavily, his arm coming around her waist and holding her there, tucked into his side.

"I wonder what we can do about that," she murmured, pretend thoughtfulness laced with her words. She kissed the corner of his lips, long and light, teased the nape of his neck with her fingers until his body shivered against her.

"I might have an idea," he answered, his voice little more than a groan, his hand curling around her elbow.

Kate smiled, teased him with a dart of her tongue to the seam of his mouth, then watched as his eyes opened, rich and heavy with arousal.

Mmm.

Great minds.

* * *

He took his time peeling the dress off her; he'd been picturing that moment since the very second he'd made his choice, pulled out his credit card to pay for the gown. The silk slid over Kate's skin with a delicious rustle, and he was struck all over again by how slender her body was, how he needed only to tug the zipper down and here came the dress, smooth and in one go, the fabric merely stretching over the sweet curve of her ass.

She was toned and slim and young, too good for him, no doubt, but he wanted her all the same.

How could he not?

Images of her with Alexis played before his eyes, how gentle and true and _herself_ she was with his daughter; he set a knee down and pressed his mouth to her thigh, that sensitive spot just above her knee.

"Kate," he murmured, felt the play of muscle under his lips.

He skimmed his hands down, trailing goosebumps at his fingertips, worked on the strap of her right shoe. When it was open he skidded his thumbs over the top of her foot, the skin so delicate and soft, and impulsively pushed his index finger between two of her toes.

He felt her jerk, a raw, startled gasp vibrating in her throat, and grinned as he slid the heel off her, dropping it onto the floor before he leaned in again, this time parting his mouth at the side of her knee.

He had done this before.

But her shoes then were crazy heels that screamed prostitute, not elegant stilettos she'd picked to go with the dress he'd bought her; her body had been taut and demanding, not this quiet, shivering expanse of skin that he felt rippling at his touch.

"Castle," she called softly, bare want in her voice, beautiful.

He slid the second shoe off and watched as she flexed her foot, the exquisite work of articulation, bone and muscle together - the graceful stretch of her toes before she finally rested her weight on her leg, pressure shifting, the line of her leg no less beautiful now that it was uninterrupted.

He straightened slowly, kept his hand light, running up her calf, her thigh, stroking the edge of her panties just to see her eyes darken. As soon as he was within her reach her fingers were on his chest, deftly undoing buttons and slipping inside, her hands hot and insistent on his skin; she pushed on tiptoe to snag his bottom lip between her teeth, a hard kiss that had him moaning into her mouth.

Her hips rocked into his, relentless, and he found the clasp of her bra, worked it open while she thrust her tongue past his lips, imperiously took control of his mouth.

"Kate, Kate, Kate," he murmured around her kiss, the eager rise of her body, wanting to slow them down but not knowing how.

She was already getting rid of his belt, roughly pushing down his pants, and he stumbled against the fabric that pooled at his feet, unable to catch himself. They went down together, graceless, and the best thing he could do was angle them towards the bed. He fell on top of her, rolling off almost immediately, but the mattress felt cold and lifeless compared to her hot, pulsing body.

He grunted and kicked the last of the pants off, his shirt gone too somehow, dug a knee into his bed so he could gather himself up, get to her. Kate was stretched out on her back, white, glistening skin in the darkness, her breath coming out in short little pants that could've been a laugh, could've been sobs, but were the song of her arousal.

"Kate," he groaned as he sunk on top of her, too-eager hands fumbling with his boxers. He found her mouth, though, pressed a wet kiss to her lips, teased her tongue until he was finally, finally naked against her.

He reached for her, his fingers tripping over her smooth thighs and finding nothing, nothing - the idea that she was as impatient as he was, that she'd gotten rid of her own underwear, was liquid fire poured into his veins.

He settled between her legs and moved his lips to her breast, tracing that lovely swell with his tongue before he parted wide at her nipple, sucking her in, feeding off the gasps and cries that echoed on his bedroom walls. His hand found her ready, slick and desperate for him, and he couldn't wait anymore.

He guided himself into her, _home_, the warm and welcoming haven of her body; she arched and swore loudly, all of her tightening, gripping him as he went deep, so deep. Her legs came up to cradle his hips, the soft skin of her calves pressed into his ass, and he sobbed her name, thrust into her with everything he had, knew it was sloppy and messy because he was so close, _fuck_, already so close, Kate-

He opened his eyes to look at her, the dark line of her lashes against her cheeks, her mouth open in pleasure; her body answered his, moved with him, hard and unrelenting until she finally froze, that second of stillness that always preceded her breaking down.

She gripped him hard, her nails digging into his biceps as she came, the uncontrolled jerk of her hips matched by the raw cries that left her mouth, maybe his name, he wasn't sure, maybe just pure need turned into sound. Castle gave in to the wave of dark pleasure, his forehead pressed to her neck as his own body surrendered, followed hers into that release.


	32. Chapter 32

**A/N: **I owe a thousand thanks to chezchuckles, for her constant support, friendship, and for sometimes (always?) knowing better than me where the story was going :). Many thanks also to Cartographical, Cora Clavia and occasionally muppet47, for listening to my whining, and being generally awesome. You guys are the best.

* * *

"You look good in a suit," she whispered, his shoulder warm under her lips.

She was curled on her side next to him, their bodies naked under the covers; Castle lay flat on his back. His breathing came deep and slow, his ribs expanding at her fingertips, but she didn't think he was asleep yet.

She was right. "Not as good as you look naked," he shot back, his voice a rumble, his eyebrows wriggling at her in the moonlight that touched his bed.

She pressed her lips around the laugh that wanted it out, knew he could see it in her eyes anyway.

"What are you saying, Castle? You didn't like my dress?"

"Oh, I liked your dress just fine. It was a lovely dress. A little conservative, maybe-"

"Conservative?" she echoed, remembering the v cut in the back, all that bare skin that she'd hesitated at in front of her mirror.

"-but all in all, a very good choice for the Mayor's Ball. I'm sure if it had been any shorter, or that neckline a little lower-" his voice dropped, trailed off like he couldn't help picturing it "-well, I would've had more contenders than I knew how to deal with. It would've gotten messy, Kate. There might've been punches-"

"So you decided to save yourself from an hypothetical black eye, and chose a dress that wouldn't attract too many suitors?" she teased, propping herself up on her elbow so she could have a better view of his face.

He grinned up at her, his hand traveling under the sheet, brushing up the curve of her breast.

"There might've been a little of that," he admitted, his touch distracting her so she couldn't glare. "But also?"

It was an effort to keep her eyes open, but she did, arched a questioning eyebrow at him.

"I knew it would look gorgeous on you," he whispered, fingers running over her side, the bend of her waist. "And I was right."

She shivered, bowed over his chest to press a long kiss to his mouth, their lips flirting lightly as they breathed together.

"I love it," she told him, owed him that at least. "Thank you for my dress, Castle."

She felt the wide smile slash across his face, and opened her eyes to find him beaming, all that soft happiness that radiated from his gaze. It made her heart squeeze, so tight a thing it was almost painful.

"You know you don't have to buy me things, right?" she asked quietly, had to ask, cupping his cheek with her palm. She stroke her thumb over the corner of his mouth, until he was serious again, listening. "You said it yourself - I'm not after your money. I don't need or want to be showered with gifts, Castle."

He looked almost - concerned. "But you liked the dress."

"I did. But you know what I liked most? That you paid enough attention to know that I was going to the ball and didn't have anything to wear, and...that you cared enough to want to remedy that situation."

"Mmm, remedy. Nice word," he approved, eyes slitted in pleasure, and she bit her lip, gave him a look.

"Rick-"

"I hear you, Kate," he assured her, his hands cradling her waist. "You don't want me to go overboard and spend millions on you. I get that. And whenever I feel the urge to - buy you things - I promise I'll try to rein it in."

She stared at him, knocked off course for a second, and knitted her eyebrow. "Um - that's - that's really sweet, Castle, although not at all what I was saying."

Now he looked confused. "No?"

"No," she confirmed, wanted to laugh at his face. "What I'm saying is - you're more to me than a bank account. And I don't care if you're wearing a suit or a pair of old jeans, if you're in a limo or riding the subway. It's you I want. Alexis's dad. Not the man smiling on the back of the book jackets."

He was silent. She gave him a moment, studying the shimmer of emotion in his eyes, the thick swallow that bobbed his adam's apple. Then she reached out, lightly, tangled her fingers with the soft hair at his neck. "Castle."

"I heard you," he answered, his voice thready. "I... Okay. Yeah. That's - that's probably the most beautiful thing anyone's said to me in a while, so excuse me while I um, blink off those manly tears that won't go away."

Oh god, he was adorable. She smiled and brushed her lips to his again, gentling, felt the thickness catch in her own throat, too. She didn't want that for them; she wanted back to the lighthearted playfulness from before.

Kate let her hand trail down his chest, finding him, squeezed her fingers just to hear him gasp.

"Want me to help you man up, Castle?"

He looked at her, his lips parting and his eyes wide, arousal spiking. But there was also a hint of reluctance there, and she was reminded of the last time she'd tried using her mouth on him.

He had some sort of issue with this.

Castle wrapped a hand around her neck and tugged her back into him, mouths colliding harshly, a mess of teeth and tongues that had her stomach twisting with need, her hand releasing him to claw at his chest.

She knew what he was doing, though. Trying to distract her.

It only made her more determined to erase whatever memory it was that darkened his eyes, replace it with a new one. Show him again how good it could be.

He'd been doing that for her, over and over, reminding her of all the wonderful things in life she'd been missing, willfully ignoring, and she-

She wanted to give back.

Kate broke away from his kiss, nipping at his ear instead, and whispered, "I want you in my mouth."

A fierce shiver pushed his body into hers, hips lifting, and she skimmed her fingers down again, caressed the ridge of his hipbone.

"Don't you want it too?" she nudged when he didn't reply, canting away so she could see his face. "Castle."

He opened his eyes, stared at her, face crowded with desire, hesitation. She smoothed her index finger down his neck, pausing over the little hollow, her thumb lightly tracing his collarbone, and his breath stuttered.

"Yes," he rasped, the words so dark. "Yes."

She smiled, kissed him again slowly, a long stroke of her tongue across his bottom lip. "Then let me," she murmured, low and certain, and she slid her hand over him.

She teased him with her fingers as her mouth traveled over his chest, pausing to lick at his nipples, resting her lips over his heated skin; he kept reaching for her, eager hands that curled into her hair, around her shoulders. She laughed and knocked his fingers away, humming around his belly button, stroke his sides until he gave that little grunt, his abs flexing at her fingertips.

His cock was hard already against her palm, and she brushed her lips over it, her moan mirroring his as his body jerked.

Shit. She was so turned on, the heat coiled tight inside her, and she wanted - oh - she wanted pressure, but wanted to taste him too, and _fuck_-

Kate rose her right hand to her chest, drawing circles and then pinching hard, giving her body some of the contact it was desperate for, and then she leaned over Castle and took him in her mouth.

She heard him swear, raw and intense, all those beautiful sounds she was dragging from his lips. But they were nothing to the sensation of being filled by him, how thick and hard he was in the cave of her mouth, the pound of his blood against her tongue.

She sucked, slowly, hands splayed at his thighs to keep him from bucking. She took him deep, then released part of his cock, only keeping the sensitive head between her lips and playing with it; the wet glide was devastating, the contact igniting her bones, and she could feel the wild thump of her heart between her legs.

Castle was calling her name, a frantic chant of_ KateKateKate_as his fingers ran over her hair, light and seeking; she reached back, laced their hands as she parted her lips wide, slid her legs around his thigh while her mouth closed on him.

She didn't know what she was riding, his knee, the hard ridge of his thigh - she didn't care. It was pressure, lovely pressure where she needed it most, and she ground her hips against it, her lips and tongue working him harder, faster as she rocked, needy sounds hummed around his skin.

Some part of her heard him gasp, a murmured _You're so wet, Kate_ that had her grinning because he was wet too, oh Castle, _so are you_, but then she was the one gasping because he'd lifted his leg into her, probably dug his heel into the mattress, and oh _crap_-

She shut her eyes tight and hollowed her cheeks, moaning around his length as she sucked, and on a violent jerk he came, spasming into her mouth, too good for her own body not to follow.

She kept her mouth around him as her hips danced, drank him in, careful not to let her teeth contract with the rest of her muscles, and when they were both spent she released him gently, mindful of that fragile skin. His hands immediately beseeched her, coming around her wrists to drag her up and over his chest, and she gave in, found his mouth with hers so he could taste himself on her tongue.

He groaned, an arm snaking tight around her waist, noses brushing together, and he murmured, lips moving against hers: "You're amazing."

Kate grinned, curling at his side so she was more comfortable, and she darted her tongue to her own lips, gathering the last of the moisture in her mouth before she dropped her head to the pillow, forehead at his temple.

He tasted good. Like intimacy, shared pleasure, and the growing trust between them.

He tasted like that four-letter word she'd promised herself she wouldn't use.

Yet.

* * *

He woke first.

He wasn't sure why he was surprised by this - after all, the only reason she'd been up before him every time they'd spent the night together was because of work, so it made sense that she would actually sleep in if she got the chance.

Or did it?

Maybe it was just finding her asleep in his bed that muddled his poor brain.

She made a lovely sight though. Turned away from him, an arm thrown over the covers, the upper half of her back bare and smooth, calling for his touch. He hadn't closed the curtains and the morning light flowed in, bathed the room, caught on Kate's ruffled hair.

Her pale skin shone softly, making her look like some supernatural, otherworldly being.

Or one of those vampires from Twilight.

Castle grinned, and propped himself up on an elbow so he could lean in and kiss her shoulder. She didn't move, not even a hitch in her breathing, and he lingered, caught in the scent of her skin.

The red digits on his alarm clock indicated only 8:16 - pretty early, considering they hadn't gotten all that much sleep. But he must have stored up energy from the previous nights, because he felt fresh, awake already.

Good. He felt so very, very good.

He brushed his nose across Kate's shoulder blade, then rolled out of bed, unwilling to wake her. He would shower - man, yeah, he really needed it - and get dressed, go into the living-room to see if Alexis was up. His daughter was unpredictable, got her sleep habits straight from him; she could lounge in bed until ten, or be in the kitchen at seven, hungry for breakfast.

Oh, pancakes. He'd said he'd make pancakes.

Well. If Alexis was awake, she'd probably had cereal, so she could wait a little longer. Or she'd buried herself in a book, and would only emerge whenever he came into the room. Either way, he could shower first.

Which was good, because he was seriously gross. All that passionate sex (wait, no,_ lovemaking_) on top of the dancing at the Mayor's ball...yeah, not pretty.

He took his time in the bathroom, added steam because he felt like it, and washed his hair with the shampoo his mother had given him for his birthday. He hadn't made much of it at first - seriously, what kind of a gift was that? - but then the stuff had proved so amazing that he'd actually ordered more bottles online.

Martha still preened herself on it.

When he got out of the shower the mirror was all fogged up, of course, so he rubbed his hair dry as best as he could and tied the towel around his waist while he slipped back into his bedroom.

Kate's form was still curled in bed, exactly where he'd left her. He went to his closet, grabbing underwear from his half-open drawer on the way, and opened the door, let his eyes run over his clean clothes.

Hmm, jeans, for sure. He pulled his favorite pair out of the shelf, then examined the shirts hanging in there. He hadn't done laundry yet, so the choice was rather narrow, but after a few seconds he picked an older one, a soft blue cotton that his daughter liked.

Hopefully Kate would, too.

Rick threw the clothes over the nearest chair, then undid the towel, let it fall to the floor while he slid his boxers on. He was reaching for the shirt when he paused, suddenly feeling the weight of a gaze on him, and turned to the bed.

Kate had rolled over, the covers now up to her chin, and was watching him, her face in shadows, her eyes dark.

His blood rushed south.

"Hi," she said, her voice rough as her lips lifted into an impish smile.

Evil woman. She knew exactly what she was doing to him.

Just for that, Castle grabbed his shirt and shrugged it on, willing himself to take deep breaths.

"Hey," he answered, breath catching even on that simple word.

She said nothing more, simply studied him with her eyes, her whole face giving him that _come hither_look he could not resist.

Sighing in surrender, he climbed back into bed, made his way to her on his hands and knees. She smiled, eyelids dropping as she stretched like a cat, and then snaked an arm around his neck when he lowered himself to her.

Her lips brushed over his, once, twice, then pressed more firmly into his mouth.

He liked that - loved it, actually. That closed-lipped, good morning kiss, warm and sweet.

"Hope I didn't wake you," he murmured, nuzzling at her cheekbone, his fingers tangling in her hair.

Kate hummed, and there was so much happiness in the sound that he nearly toppled over.

"No, I'm good," she assured him, eyes opening to regard him brightly. "I think the prospect of pancakes woke me."

He huffed a laugh, dropping another kiss to that clever mouth before he pushed himself up. "Shamelessly using me, I see."

She made a sound that was neither agreement nor denial, and when he slipped off the bed, turned his head to her, her eyes were lingering on the still-exposed skin of his chest.

He smirked.

"Do I have permission to get dressed? It's unfortunately a necessary stage of the operation_ Pancakes_."

Her mouth quirked up.

"Really, Castle? I'm disappointed. I pictured you cooking in an apron and nothing else underneath."

He arched an eyebrow at her, a laugh bubbling inside his chest. "Oh, yeah? Is that a fantasy of yours, Ms. Beckett?"

She pressed her lips together, gave a light shrug that didn't fool him. Interesting. Too bad her birthday wasn't for another nine months.

"Well, as much as I'd love to make it come true," he said, "I have to consider the fact that my daughter might be in the kitchen. Afraid today the clothes are coming on."

"If they must," she dropped with a long-suffering sigh.

There was no holding back his grin as he slid his pants on, buttoned his shirt, then rummaged through a drawer for a pair of socks. Kate's dress was at his feet, rumpled on the floor; he squatted to pick it up, folded it over the back of his chair. And then he realized.

"You don't have any other clothes here, do you?"

"You should be a detective," she said, that wry edge to her voice that he loved.

He flicked his eyes to her, just to be sure, but her face was relaxed, her eyes laughing - she really didn't care.

"I probably have some stuff left from my ex-wife," he ventured to offer. "Want me to go look? It's probably not your style, but size-wise, it should fit. It'll be more comfortable than that dress."

"Or I could wear one of your shirts," she countered, pushing herself up on her elbow. The covers slid back an inch or two, baring the top of her chest, and suddenly he couldn't make his eyes look away.

"Ah - um-" he hedged, willing the sheet to slip a little more. Just a tiny bit.

Kate laughed, breaking his contemplation, and shook her head at him. "Men. Don't worry, Castle. I'm not going to show up in front of your daughter wearing only your shirt. Jeez."

And on that she threw back sheets and comforter, lifting out of his bed in one graceful move, and walked to him stark naked. He had to remember to close his mouth.

"It's a yes, to your clothes offer," she said, a small smile playing on her lips. "It'd be nice if you could find me something. I'll be in your shower," she finished, a teasing glint to her eyes.

She took a step closer and lifted on tiptoe, pushed her mouth into his as her arms slid around his neck. He moaned at the feel of her soft, bare flesh pressed against him, hands rising at her waist, but the moment his fingers touched her she pulled back, that knowing, devastating grin on her face.

"Pancakes, Castle."

* * *

When she finally stepped into the living-room, Kate was dressed in ass-hugging jeans and an old shirt she'd found discarded at the back of Castle's closet - it had probably shrunk in the wash, because it fitted her well enough.

His ex-wife's clothes only included a handful of bright-colored, low-neckline blouses, and she'd stood in front of them for a few minutes before deciding that there was no way in hell she was wearing one of those.

She smoothed her hands down her clothes, feeling a little self-conscious, but Alexis was nowhere in sight, and Castle was humming in the kitchen, his back turned to Beckett.

She smiled and tiptoed closer, the lovely smell of pancakes surrounding her as she crept in.

He must have heard her coming because he didn't jump when she put her arms around his waist, pressed her cheek to his shoulder. Oh, he smelled so good - she didn't know what it was, soap or shampoo, but it made her want to drag him straight back to bed.

"Alexis still asleep?" she asked, trying to steer herself away from that dangerous train of though.

"Probably reading in bed," Castle answered after a second, that tight focus in his voice that Kate found so very sexy. "I'll go get her when breakfast is ready."

He paused as he moved, lifting and tilting the pan so the pancake would join its brothers on the plate waiting next to the stove, then asked as he poured more batter, "The clothes fit okay?"

"Yeah," Kate said, lifting up to peer over his shoulder at what he was doing. It was entrancing, the sizzle of the pan, the jerks of his wrists, his hands so sure as he flipped the pancake - just like her mother's had been. "Thank you," she added, remembering his question.

"You know, I was thinking," he started, his fingers shifting over the wooden paddle. "You should leave some clothes here."

Kate's body froze, cold apprehension swirling in her veins, but Castle went on, oblivious: "There's lots of space, and honestly, it would just make it so much easier for you. Not just on days like this, but - when you have to go to work in the morning? You wouldn't have to go home in the middle of the night, or wake up extra early because you need to stop at your place to change clothes. And no need to plan ahead, either. You can just come over whenever you feel like it."

Another pancake slid on top of the now-crooked pile, and Kate forced a breath into her lungs. He was not trying to move her in; he was only being practical, thinking of ways that would allow her to get more sleep.

She could be practical. Right?

"Hmm, yeah," she said, relieved that her voice didn't waver. "You're right. I guess I could do that."

Thank god, he didn't push the issue, only focused on the pancakes again. Kate detached herself from him, skirting his large frame so she could lean her back to the counter, get a view of his face.

She'd been thinking too, under the luxurious spray of his shower - thinking about last night, and what he'd said.

"Castle?"

"Yeah?"

His eyes lifted to hers, a startling blue in the bright morning light, and her heart skipped a beat.

"You can still-" damn it, she hated to hear herself so hesitant. "You can still write Nikki Heat, yeah?"

He flipped the pancake, gave her a confused look. "What?"

"Even if you don't - if you can't ride along with a detective at the precinct right now. You can still write the book?"

She curled her bottom lip between her teeth, suddenly realized how much it meant to her. Not just his being able to write, although, yeah, that was part of it, the biggest part, surely, but...that he was writing a novel about her, too.

She wanted to know what happened to Nikki Heat.

"Oh, yeah," Castle answered easily, understanding spreading into his eyes. He scraped the last of the batter from the bowl, moved to drop the empty dish into the sink before he turned back to her with a smile.

"Don't worry, Kate. I'm not even done with Derrick Storm yet, you know? Gina's not happy with the death scene, so I gotta rewrite that, and then there's the edits, the promotion of the book, the actual release...I've got time. I don't want to ride along with any detective - _you're_ the one I'm interested in. I want to see how _you _work, how you think, who you are as a cop. And if I have to wait for that," he finished with a shrug, "then fine, I will. Because you're worth it."

She released a long breath, her body loosening at his words, but some part of her still reluctant to believe it.

"You sure?" she wanted to know. "Because I don't want my job to get in the way of yours, Castle. It doesn't seem fair to make you wait without being even able to give you a date, or-"

"Kate," he cut her gently, stepping in close. "I don't need a date. I know it'll happen. All I want is - to be there when it does. And until then, to have you...here."

He wriggled an eyebrow and she couldn't help laughing, her fingers curling over the soft cotton of his shirt.

God, she loved him.

Shit.

"Your pancake's burning," she realized, her nose crinkling at the smell that rose from the stove.

"Oh crap," he cursed, spinning back to assess the damage. The stuff was quickly blackening, and Castle turned the burner off while reaching for the pan, slid the wooden spoon under the pancake in a last attempt to save it.

Both sides were equally burned, though, and he stared mournfully at his creation for a moment before dropping it into the bin with a sigh.

Kate pressed her mouth around her smile. That stunned breath of realization was already dissipating, leaving only the knowledge to sink into her, settle into her bones, rich and deep.

She was in love with him.

"It's only a pancake, Castle," she teased, hooked two fingers into his belt so she could tug him into her. "Hardly the end of the world. No need to look so miserable."

He pouted, but it didn't hold, a little flash of joy lighting up his eyes when she brushed her mouth against his.

"Makes you want me, though," he said with relish, a wide palm splaying at her waist.

She bit her lip and smacked his chest, refused to laugh at his childishness. "No it doesn't."

"Yes it does."

She tilted her head at him, arching her eyebrows. "Really? How old are you?"

"Five. Ask my daughter. I'm even potty-trained."

"Gross, Castle." But she was laughing, couldn't help it, even as she shook his head.

He watched her, his eyes softening, love transforming his whole face, the line of his mouth. He lifted a hand, tracing her jaw with a light finger, and the touch sobered her, made her breath catch.

"Thank you," she blurted out foolishly, couldn't keep her mouth shut when he looked at her like that.

He smiled at her. "For what?"

No point in chickening out now.

"For the way you look at me," Kate said, determined to keep her voice steady. "And the way you believe in me. I haven't had that in a long time."

His mouth opened, surprise at her honesty, maybe, or just emotion at her words. His eyes shimmered and he reached for her, a hand tangling in the hair at her neck as he drew her in for a long, tender kiss.

Her heart was pounding in her chest when he released her, but it wasn't just arousal this time. It was-

more.

So much more.

"And, Castle?" she said, felt it all bursting in her chest, dams breaking. "You have me. Here, now. You have me."

This was the closest she could get to saying the words, at least for now, but she could see in his face that he knew what she meant, that he understood her. His smile was sudden and startling, so beautiful that she had to kiss him again, her hands around his face, the length of her body stretched against his.

"And you'll have me there, too. I promise. As soon as I can, as soon as I'm in the position to have you shadow me."

"Kate-"

She pressed two fingers to his mouth, looked at him intensely, knowing this was right.

"As soon as I can," she repeated, watched as the words slowly sunk into him. He deserved them, deserved everything she could give him - it would never be enough.

"Okay," he said at last with a stunned nod, happiness unfurling in his eyes. "Okay, Kate."

She sucked in a strangled breath, the feeling exactly the same as when she'd just run ten miles - drained and tingling and alive. Victorious.

She could do this; she could be the person he needed her to be. She would work on it tirelessly, because he was a beautiful man, and he loved her, and he'd let her into his life. He'd trusted her with the most precious thing he had - his daughter's heart.

She reached out and took his hand between hers, stroke her thumb over his, drew small circles over the tender flesh of his palm. She wasn't any good with words, but this, the touching, the gestures - she could do.

Still. He needed words, didn't he? He was a writer; he lived and breathed for them, the elegant turn of a phrase, the smooth rhythm of a sentence.

Maybe she could find some for him.

Letting go of his hand with one last caress, Kate rested her fingers at his chest, over his heart. She lifted her head, gave him the best smile she could find, scraping herself raw to let it shine through, confidence and bright hope, all the timid love that trembled in her heart.

"I'll go get Alexis for breakfast," she told him.

And she watched the love spill out of his eyes.


	33. Epilogue

**A/N**: This is for everyone who's read, and reviewed, and followed my story "Vice". You guys are amazing. Thank you.

**Disclaimer: **Castle belongs to ABC - nothing is mine.

* * *

"You're gonna make us late," he said, but his voice was a little too breathy, his eyes a little too encouraging for her to take him seriously.

She smiled at his collarbone and didn't bother answering, feathered her fingers over his ribs as she went down, her mouth brushing slowly against his chest. He grunted, his hips readily rising into her palm, and she took a second to savor the power she had on him, how delicious it was, to wake up in his bed on a Saturday morning and make his skin ripple with her touch.

"Took the day off for you," she finally replied, flashing him a dark smirk as her hand tripped lower, taunted him. "I deserve to have a little fun, don't you think?"

His response wasn't articulate, was only a low groan pulled from deep in his chest, and she caught the hand that came for her, laced their fingers together with a grin, leaning in to kiss the supple skin at the base of his thumb.

The world suddenly spun; the white of the sheets merged into the pale yellow of Castle's ceiling as she was rolled onto her back, the writer's large body pinning her to the bed, leaving her stunned and breathless.

She arched against him reflexively, not even thinking, and he laughed in pleasure, that rich, beautiful sound that made her skin burn. "I want in on your fun," he declared, a seductive eyebrow rising at her, and then he sank down, his warm mouth opening at her breast.

Her whole body shivered with it, an undulation that started at her toes and never seemed to end, but a timid knock at the door interrupted it, jerked Kate's head from the pillow.

"Dad?"

Castle lifted his head, orienting his ear towards the door in a dog-like manner that would've made her laugh in any other circumstances. "Yes, Alexis?"

He was still close enough to Kate's chest to drop his cheek down, graze her nipple with his five-o'clock shadow; she had to bite her lip so she wouldn't moan, the sensation incredibly sharp on her aroused skin.

"Castle," she hissed, giving him a look.

"I don't know what to wear," his daughter was saying, that tone halfway between a whine and a snap that Beckett remembered so well from her own teenage years.

Castle wrinkled his nose, eyes briefly closing in dismay, glanced back down at Kate in regret. "I'll be there in a sec, pumpkin," he called back, and then he lowered himself to Beckett, collided his mouth to hers in a harsh, erotic kiss.

"Don't you dare move from this bed," he murmured. "I'll be right back."

She curled her lips into a smile, dropped her eyelashes flirtatiously. "Thought you didn't want to be late," she breathed out.

He growled and snagged her bottom lip between his teeth, soothed the sting with his tongue before he rolled off her.

"I changed my mind," he threw over his shoulder as he slipped on his pajama bottoms, and the hot look he gave her as he opened the door made her insides clench with sweet anticipation.

Mmm. Life was good.

* * *

Rick came out of his daughter's bedroom and sauntered down the stairs, made his way through the living-room as fast as he could without actually running. He didn't really expect Kate to wait in bed for him, but some part of him couldn't keep from hoping, even if it was late, even if he should've been in the shower already.

In his study he slowed down, listened for the sound of running water - but there was only silence. Encouraged, he pushed the door open inch by inch, revealing his small bookshelf, the chest of drawers, the foot of his bed-

And his bare, crumpled sheets. He was torn between disappointment and amusement that he knew her so well.

He stepped inside, nudging the door shut with his foot, and since there was still no trace of her, he headed for the bathroom. "Kate?"

There was a trickle of water, the tap being closed, and the door opened onto a smiling, seductive, alluringly naked Beckett.

Oh. Maybe she _had_ been waiting for him after all.

"I know you from somewhere," she said, knitting her brow in mock thoughtfulness, her head tilting as she came closer. Her fingers hooked at the waistband of his soft pajama pants, knuckles brushing over his abs, and his breath came out on a rush, his hand blindly going for her.

"I think maybe I've seen you in the paper," she hummed, the line of her body stretched against him as she rose on tiptoe, pressed her mouth to his jaw. His eyes slammed shut and he stroked whatever he could find, her side, her back, the soft swell of her ass.

Shit, shit, he had to focus - he had something to tell her.

"Kate-"

"Aren't you like...a famous lawyer or something?"

He could feel her grin at his neck before she nipped at the skin, laved her tongue over that sensitive spot just below his ear. His body rippled, hips jerking at her clever touch.

"Or maybe - maybe a secret agent," she murmured, her breath hot and tantalizing, fingers drifting down. "Hmm? That why you can't tell me anything? You don't even exist?"

He never should have told her how much he enjoyed role-playing.

"Kate," he rasped, caught her wrist before she could - do more damage. Jeez, he was Richard Castle; he was supposed to have game. But a few playful whispers, the tempting brush of her nude body against him, and he was reduced to nothing. Gone. It was pathetic.

"Alexis wants your opinion," he managed to stutter, his voice still raw with arousal. It felt wrong to even say his daughter's name like that.

"Huh?"

Her mouth lingered at his throat for a second before she swayed back, her dark eyes meeting his, entirely too alert considering how muddled _his_ brain was.

"About the dress," he said hoarsely, rubbed a hand down his face as if it could mitigate the reality of Kate Beckett, stark naked in his bedroom, a tempting flush on her cheeks. "The clothes she's wearing for today. She, um. She wants your opinion."

"Oh."

She looked at him, teeth sinking into her bottom lip, didn't seem quite sure what to do with that.

"You need to get dressed," he sighed mournfully, looking around for her clothes. She had a bag, didn't she? He remembered that black bag she's brought with her the night before, swatting his hand away when he'd tried to peek inside.

She had a few changes of clothes at his place, t-shirts and leggings to sleep in - even her own toothbrush in the bathroom - so he'd been curious to know what she'd brought with her.

"Okay," she said, drawing his attention back to her as she nodded slowly to herself. "I - yeah. I'll put on some clothes and go upstairs. You," she added with a pointed look, "need to shower, Castle. Jeez, it's almost eleven."

He couldn't help feathering his fingers over her hip, watching the flutter of her lashes. "I want you in my shower," he said darkly, delighted to see his need reflected back at him in her eyes.

She grunted and squeezed her hand around his bicep, hard enough to bruise, pushed him back instead.

"There's no time," she scowled, and she was adorable, trying to be severe when he could see the quick rise of her chest. "You shower, and get ready. I don't want your lovely publisher to blame it on me when you're late."

"I don't care what Gina says," he said, going for her mouth, but her palm was at his chest, arresting, and he knew better than to finagle with Kate Beckett.

She could take him.

With a whine he gave in, turned away to step into the bathroom - entirely less appealing now that she wasn't in it anymore - and heard the decided click of the door behind him.

"You locking me in?" he smirked, reaching to start the water.

"Don't tempt me, Castle."

He grinned to himself, knowing the threat was real, and he kept his mouth shut. No point being locked into a room if she was on the other side of the door.

* * *

_"She stood there in stunned disbelief as the light in his eyes dimmed," _Castle read, his face grave, his voice lower than usual. His eyes flickered between the book open in front of him and the audience, catching Kate's only briefly before he went on. "_He reached out for her and she took his hand, squeezing it for the very last time."_

If she didn't know him personally, Beckett would probably have thought he was putting on an act, playing the crowd like he certainly knew how. But she was familiar by now with the way honesty made his voice catch, made him blink a little faster, and she found herself genuinely touched by his reaction to Derrick Storm's last moments.

Despite his boasts that Storm had gotten boring, that he didn't want to be writing the detective anymore, that he could barely wait for the Nikki Heat series to start, he still cared, didn't he?

This was still one of his characters, and maybe it was a little harder to let go than Castle had expected.

Kate unconsciously shifted a little closer, where he could see her, and her arm accidentally brushed against Martha's vividly red coat. Castle's mother turned her gaze to Beckett, that warm, knowing smile on her face that always made the detective a little uncomfortable, and she tilted her head to whisper, "He's doing a pretty good job, isn't he? Although that last line could've used a more dramatic pause. But well. Not everybody is born an actor."

Kate pressed her lips against the smile that threatened, met Castle's eyes again, so blue in the late morning light that splashed over the bookshelves.

"He's pretty good," she agreed, her heartbeat picking up when he gave her that slow, beautiful smile.

Oh, the reading was over. People were clapping heartily and calling out words of praise, and Beckett joined in, dropped her eyes to see Alexis's enthusiastic applause. The girl's red hair shone softly under the September sun, set off by the deep green dress that had been the cause for such hesitation, and Kate reached out without thinking, stroked her fingers to the sweep of fiery hair.

Alexis looked up and flashed her a bright grin, her eyes dancing with excitement. Beckett opened her mouth to tell the girl how pretty she looked, but just then a voice came at her back, startlingly familiar.

"Katie."

She whipped around, nearly knocking her elbow into the woman next to her, and her throat went dry.

"Dad."

He looked good, better than he had in her memories. The lines on his face didn't seem so deep today, and the recent haircut, the dark leather jacket made him look rather dapper.

"You're early," she said, nervousness threading her voice. She'd told him to meet them at one outside the bookstore, figuring that would be time enough to prepare herself, but-

Here he was.

"I was curious to hear some of that reading," he said, moving to embrace her briefly. "I wanted to see the man who's stolen my daughter's heart."

Oh god. She managed a strained smile, saw the way his eyes slitted as he studied her.

"You were always going to see him," she pointed out petulantly. "The whole point of this lunch is for you to meet him, Dad."

"I know," he replied smoothly, unaffected by her tone. "But he is your favorite writer, isn't he? Am I not allowed to come listen to his reading, make my own opinion?"

She opened her mouth, closed it, willed herself to calm down. He was here now, and ready or not, she just had to deal with it.

"Of course," she said, forcing her lips into an upward curve. "Well, since you're here - let me introduce you. Martha," she called, grateful for once that Castle's mom was always eavesdropping and ready to step in. "This is my father, Jim Beckett. Dad, Martha is Rick's mother. She's a well-known Broadway actress."

"It's such a pleasure to finally meet you," Martha exclaimed, shaking Jim's hand energetically. "Kate is a wonderful young woman, really, but she's so secretive about her life. We hardly knew of your existence at all," she concluded in a laughing, slightly reproachful voice.

Jim glanced at his daughter with an imperceptible rise of his brow, and Kate wanted nothing more than to disappear. Whose idea was this again?

A small hand nudged at hers timidly, and she lowered her eyes to find Alexis at her side. Bless the girl.

"Dad?" Kate said, lacing her fingers with Castle's daughter's. "Here's someone else I want you to meet. Alexis - this is my father, Jim."

"Hi," Alexis offered with a shy smile, her fingers coming up in a little wave.

Beckett could see the exact moment when her father's heart melted, because his eyes softened, turned a warm blue as he held out a hand, and gently shook Alexis's.

"It's a pleasure," he said, as serious as ever, his mouth pressed in the lightest smile. "Kate has told me a lot about you."

Alexis's eyes flicked to Kate, her cheeks reddening, and went back to Jim. "Really?"

Pleased with herself for redirecting her father's attention so effectively, Kate smoothed the black fabric of her dress, her index finger tracing the v-neck that she found too deep. Castle had said once he adored it, though, and he'd peeled the dress off her with such love and attention that the mere memory sent shivers to her blood.

It hadn't been very hard to decide what to wear today.

And speaking of Castle-

She looked around but couldn't find him; the room had gotten more crowded over the last five minutes, the gathering attracting customers who'd only come in to buy books, and Rick was no longer standing next to the dais he'd been reading from.

Gina was in her line of sight, her blonde hair arranged into an elegant and recognizable up-do, and Kate shifted a little bit, trying to see if Castle was anywhere near-

An arm wrapped around her waist and she nearly cried out, had to curb her first instinct to slam her elbow into the person's face. A second later his mouth was at her neck, warm and seeking, and a long frisson ran through her, her body automatically canting into his.

"Castle-" she breathed, a warning on her tongue, but before she could finish he was twirling her around and slanting his lips over hers, a deep, leisurely kiss that had her toes curling.

"I love that dress," he murmured finally, grinning against her.

She was smiling too, a little light-headed and completely distracted, when a throat loudly cleared next to them.

Oh, shit.

"Um, Castle," she said, trying to quell the frantic feeling that rose in her stomach. She grabbed his hand from her ass - oh god, oh god - and turned him around, fighting for breath. "I - would like you to meet my dad. Dad. This is Rick," she said, resisting the urge to fidget.

Her father looked as stern as ever, all that Alexis softness gone in a breath. Damn it.

"Mr. Beckett," Rick exclaimed, his voice only slightly close to a squeak. He plastered a smile on his face, remembered too late to extend a hand that Jim didn't shake. "How nice to finally meet you."

There was an awkward, palpable silence before Kate's father answered at last. "And you," he said in a clipped voice.

Beckett's heart stumbled with relief, and then Martha was stealing the spotlight again, announcing that she had prior engagements and was _devastated_ at not being able to do lunch with them, taking a dramatic leave. Kate felt the comforting squeeze of Castle's fingers over hers, but she didn't dare look at him.

Her cheeks were still burning. And they weren't even at the restaurant yet.

* * *

"So, Mr. Castle. You write for a living."

Rick slowly set down his menu, glancing at the vanishing forms of Kate and Alexis. This was how Jim Beckett wanted to do things, huh? A manly confrontation when his daughter wasn't around to silence him with her eyes.

Fine then.

"Yes, sir," Castle answered, leaning back into his chair. "I have to admit, I've been very lucky. I sold my first novel when I was nineteen, still in college, and it somehow turned into a best-seller. From then on... I'm not saying it was easy, of course, but I never doubted that it was what I wanted to do for the rest of my life."

He tried his best to sound humble, because it was obvious from Jim's face that he was not easily impressed. Especially not by fame and easy money and twenty-years-old splurging their first book's revenue within six months.

"In other words, you're a rich man," Kate's father said, an assessing glint to his blue eyes.

Huh. "I suppose you could call me that," Rick replied, trying for a smile.

"And do you have - plans for my daughter? Are you hoping that she will simply quit her work and make a bunch of little brothers and sisters for Alexis to play with?"

Castle had his hand curled around his glass of water, but he was suddenly glad the liquid hadn't made it to his mouth yet - otherwise he would have been sputtering it out.

"I - ah - no. No, sir. I...I don't think your daughter would abide by my plans, anyway. If I had plans, that is. Which I don't." _Shut up, shut up._

A distinct flash of amusement crossed the older man's eyes. "Too bad," Jim hummed. "I wouldn't mind seeing her in a safer line of work."

Castle opened his mouth, hesitated. That was a joke, right?

"I think," he said, careful with his words, "that it would be a shame if Kate were to leave the NYPD. Of course I'd love for her to be safe, and not risking her life every day, but from I hear she's...extremely good at what she does. I mean, look at her - she's not even twenty-five and they've already made her a detective. That's gotta be breaking some kind of record, right? Something to be proud of, for sure."

Jim Beckett gave him an unfathomable look. "You suggesting that I'm not proud of my daughter?"

Rick held back a groan, fought the desire to close his eyes. "No. No, of course not. I'd never-"

"Because you'd be wrong, Mr. Castle. I'm very proud of Katie. I might have trouble sleeping at night when I imagine her out in the streets with only her gun for protection, but I know what a good cop she is. She's always excelled at anything she applied herself to."

Yeah, he wasn't exactly surprised to hear that.

"I believe you," he said with a half-smile. "Her spirit, her determination is - inspiring. She told you I want to create a character based off her for my next series of novels, I think?"

"Yes, she mentioned that," Jim answered, his voice still cool and reserved.

_He doesn't trust me, _Castle thought, but he understood. He would just have to work his hardest to change that.

"I think your daughter is extraordinary, Mr. Beckett," he declared simply, owning the truth. "I've never met anybody like her. She's got such fire, such passion to her, and at the same time there's this capacity for empathy, for compassion that I've never seen in anyone. She guards her heart fiercely, but she opens up to you it's so very-"

-beautiful. He swallowed back the word, glancing at Kate's father, but the man was still observing him, his expression undecipherable.

"You'll have to understand, for a writer - it's impossible not to want to write about her. A character like that, so rich, with so many facets to her...How could I resist?"

"And what happens once the book is over?" Jim Beckett asked gravely. "What happens once you've solved all her mysteries, Mr. Castle? Do you just turn to the next object of interest?"

Rick made sure Kate and his daughter were still out of earshot before he made his answer.

"I'm not sure I can ever solve all of Kate's mysteries, sir. But I'd be more than happy to spend my life trying."

* * *

Beckett was surprised at how well lunch had gone. After the awkwardness at the bookstore and in the car, she'd expected a reenactment of the Cold War - death stares and stubborn silences, something along those lines - but Castle was as charming as ever, going out of his way to make them all laugh, and her father had been much more approachable after she and Alexis had come back from the bathroom.

She couldn't help but wonder what had happened there.

"It's on me," Rick insisted with a smile when the waiter brought them the check, and Kate held her breath, waited to see what her dad's response would be.

Jim looked for a second like he wanted to argue, but Alexis was giving him a sweet look (she'd been coached by Castle, no doubt) and with a sigh Kate's father relented, leaned back into his seat.

"Well. That's - very nice of you, Rick."

Oh. Rick, huh?

Beckett ducked her head to hide her smile, slid out of the booth once Castle had slipped the cash into the black leather check holder. He was up immediately after her, their fingers brushing when he stood too close, and she let it go on for a moment, enjoying his warmth and the scent of him while her father and Alexis rose from the table.

The four of them headed outside; the September sun was surprisingly warm, spilling over the sidewalk, and Kate stuffed her scarf into her bag instead of wrapping it around her neck.

"So," Castle said, offering his hand warmly. "It was nice meeting you, Jim. Alexis and I have to run because she's invited to a birthday party this afternoon and we still don't have a present, but we should do this again soon. Maybe next time you can come to the loft."

"Sure," Kate's father answered, shaking Rick's hand firmly this time. "And thank you for lunch. I had a good time."

"Me too," Alexis piped in, and Jim turned a genuine smile to her.

"I hope you have fun at the party, Alexis," he said, and from her position Beckett could see him cant forward slightly, as if he wasn't sure whether or not he wanted to hug the girl.

She grinned to herself, decided it would probably be a little much for today.

"Well guys, I'll see you later," she said, winking at Alexis and catching the flash of heat in Castle's eyes meant only for her. Mmm, she wished they were at the loft already, the two of them alone. "I'll walk my dad to the subway, and then I have some laundry to do at home."

"Okay," Rick said, that smile that said _I'll be waiting._ "Later, then."

"Bye, Kate," Alexis added, waving her fingers. "Thanks for helping me choose my dress."

"No problem," Beckett answered easily, and then the two of them turned away, moving towards the car that was waiting.

Kate watched them disappear, warmth licking at her heart, and when she glanced at her father he was regarding her with too-knowing eyes. She huffed and then reached for his arm, hooking it with hers, felt a pinch of sadness when she couldn't remember the last time they'd done this.

Despite his going to rehab, despite their careful attempts at mending their relationship over the last few months - some things only healed with time, didn't they?

"He seems like a...nice man," Jim said suddenly, a note of hesitation in his voice.

Beckett worried her bottom lip, found a smile at the thought of Castle. "He is," she said softly. He was - so much more than that.

"He's older than you," her father observed, trying to keep a neutral sound. "He has a kid."

"And what an adorable kid, too," Kate volleyed back, an eyebrow arched at him. "Don't you think?"

He chuckled, admitting defeat. "Yeah, she seems pretty great. Reminds me of you a little bit, actually."

Kate hummed. "I was never that serious, was I?"

"Oh, you could be. When you took something to heart - your mother and I used to laugh about that, the way you'd scrunch up your face, come up with a list of rational arguments. You were never the tantrum sort."

The ghost of Johanna lingered with them for a moment as they walked side by side, each lost in their own thoughts.

"Where is her mother?" Jim asked when they came into view of the subway station. It took Kate a second to realize who he meant.

"Oh, um. In California. Meredith - that's her name - is an actress. She and Castle got divorced when Alexis was only a baby, and he got full custody. I haven't met her, but from what I've heard she's a little...irresponsible. She's a nice person, Castle says, just not - mother material."

"Ah."

She glanced at her father, but his face was unreadable, his thoughts well-concealed. Kate fisted her free hand in her pocket, tried to gather the courage to tell him what she'd been meaning to. This was her chance; if she let him vanish into the subway, then-

"I'm thinking of moving in with him," she blurted out, the words all running together.

Jim came to a complete stop, untangled their arms so he could turn fully to her. His blue eyes roamed over her, wide with shock, and he asked, "Are you pregnant?"

What?

Kate gaped at him, couldn't believe- "Dad! No. No, I'm not - why would you even-"

"I'm sorry," he said immediately, lifting up his hands in an appeasement gesture. "I'm just - a little surprised here. Katie, it seems so...quick. And you're usually so circumspect, so careful."

"We've been dating for six months," she said, winced at how defensive she sounded. Damn it, she should've kept her mouth shut.

"And you only just introduced us today," her father pointed out, a thin edge of disappointment to his words.

Oh, great. "I was waiting for the right moment," she answered lamely, knew how it sounded. But things had been so rocky between her and her dad-

"Katie, I know," he said soothingly, his hand briefly squeezing her elbow. "Look, I don't mean to berate you, I...You've caught me off-guard, that's all. Do you - do you love him?"

She lifted her head, met his eyes again. "Yes," she said. "Yes, I do."

Her father nodded slowly, parted his mouth, hesitant. "And are you still working on your mother's case?"

What did that have to do with anything?

She stared at him, didn't want to give him an answer - but her silence revealed enough. Her father's face hardened, a deep crease forming in her brow. "Katie."

"What?" she said stiffly. "I know what I'm doing this time, Dad. I'm being careful - I'm not letting it take over my life, and Rick's been helping-"

"What?" Jim's voice dropped, a low murmur than she knew didn't bode well.

She nearly stepped back, but she caught herself in time and stood her ground instead, raised her chin defiantly.

"I - I told him about Mom, and he has all these different contacts from writing murder mysteries, and - he has money, too. He wants to help-"

"Katherine Eleanor Beckett," her father interrupted sternly, his eyes a stormy grey now. "What game are you playing at? This man has a child, an adorable child, as you said yourself, who apparently has only one stable parent she can count on. Are you planning on taking him down that dark hole with you? I know what it is to be obsessed, Katie-"

"I'm not _obsessed_," she choked out, hated herself for the tears in her voice. "I'm fine. It's not like last time, Dad-"

"Do you really believe that?"

Shit, she couldn't hold his gaze. She clenched her teeth and dropped her eyes to the ground instead, wished herself anywhere but here.

"You need to ask yourself the right questions," her father said, softer now. "If you move in with him, Katie, he has to come first. His daughter has to come first. You realize that, don't you?"

She swallowed, gave a small nod.

"And if you're not ready to change your priorities, if you still think your mother's case needs your full attention, then maybe you shouldn't rush into this."

"Dad-"

She forced herself to breathe deep - she couldn't cry in the _street_ - and before she knew it his arms were around her, thin and strong, the reassuring smell of his shirt against her nose. She sighed and gave in, melting into his embrace even as his words kept slashing at her heart.

She knew what her priorities were. Didn't she? She was ready for this. She was-

"I want it, Dad," she murmured pitifully against his chest.

She felt his hands on her shoulders, and he pushed her away gently so he could meet her eyes. "Then make it happen, sweetheart. Work for it. I obviously don't know Rick very well, and I don't know how he and you work, but - you seem to have a good thing going there. You love him; he clearly loves you. Just be honest with him."

"I am," she rasped, remembering all the late night confessions, the whispered words that she couldn't take back. "I am."

"Then you've got nothing to worry about," Jim smiled lightly. "Don't listen to the ramblings of an old man. What do I know?"

She gave him a trembling smile back, but his words weren't so easy to dismiss as he made it sound. Still, she put herself back together enough that she could push him into the subway, thanking and hugging him one last time before she let him go, and she stood there on her own, the sun no longer warming her skin.

_If you're not ready to change._

* * *

The knock on his door came later than he'd expected. Castle sprung out of his desk chair and beelined for the door, flipped the locks eagerly.

Alexis had ended up staying at her friend's, the party prolonged into a sleepover, and he'd texted Kate to let her know they'd have the loft to themselves. A couple hours ago. She hadn't replied, but he'd told himself it was fine, nothing to worry about - she did that sometimes when he hadn't asked her a direct question, or when the answer was too obvious.

And they _had_ agreed beforehand to spend the night together.

So he didn't obsess over it, worked on Nikki Heat instead, and now, wow, it was nearly ten o'clock and Kate Beckett was standing at his door.

"Hey," he breathed out with a smile, feeling the usual warmth bubbling in his chest whenever she came to him willingly. No matter how many times it happened, he couldn't seem to get enough of it.

"Hi," she murmured, pushing her hair back, and his heart sunk when he realized how tired, how...crushed she looked.

What was going on? She'd been fine during lunch, had laughed at all his jokes, and her father had even smiled when he and Alexis had said goodbye.

"Come on in," he invited, stepping back to make room for her.

She hesitated, her bottom lip pulled between her teeth, and the reluctance in her eyes was a punch in his gut. No, no, no.

"Kate?" he said, moving a little closer.

"I tried calling you twice," she sighed, rubbing at her forehead. "You didn't answer."

Oh? Oh. He'd left his phone charging in his bedroom. Probably on silent. Damn.

"Sorry," he winced, taking another step towards her. "I was writing-"

"I wasn't gonna come," she said, the apology in her dark eyes laced with something else he couldn't decipher. "I was calling you to cancel tonight, but you weren't answering and I didn't want you to think..."

He stared at her, unable to decide which won, the hurt that she'd wanted to cancel on him or the sharp tug of pleasure at her not being able to stand him up.

"What's wrong?" he asked gently as he bridged the space left between them, caught her forearm in his hand. Because he could, because he knew what his touch did to her.

She let out a trembling sigh and averted her eyes, but now that he looked closely he could see the red, irritated skin under her lashes.

She'd been crying.

"Kate," he exhaled, sorrow leaking out in his voice, and that seemed to finally do it - she came into his arms, her face pressing against his neck, her hand fisting on his shirt. He barely had time to wind an arm around her waist, though, before she tried to pull back, her teeth gritted, shaking her head.

"I shouldn't-"

He grabbed her other wrist, didn't want to hear her excuses. He just wanted her here with him.

"Come inside and tell me what happened," he said, his voice teetering on that fine line between question and order. "Please," he added with an intense look at her.

She didn't want to. She was still searching for a way to run; he could tell from the way her eyes kept darting to the sides, avoiding his. But he didn't give her a chance to escape, didn't release his hold on her - he kept his face pleading and earnest, and after a long moment she relented, headed inside with her head bowed.

The rush of victory in his blood was dizzying, especially when limned with concern. He took his time closing the door, and when he twirled around she was standing in his living-room, her jacket still on, uncertainty written in the line of her body.

He sighed inwardly and went to her, nudged her towards the couch. She sank down heavily, and he took the armchair next to her, wanting a clear view of her face.

She looked so demoralized; he had to lean in and curl a hand around her knee, his heart painful in his chest.

"Kate, what happened?" he asked softly. "I thought lunch went pretty well. Your dad didn't want to maim me so much at the end, right?"

She huffed a laugh, her eyes reluctantly dancing up to his face, and her hand came over his, her fingers light on his skin before they fell back to her side.

"Yeah, I think you're safe, Castle. You did good," she said with a smile, tenderness flashing across her face. It made his breath catch like it always did, her opening up to him, and he squeezed her knee, fought the urge to kiss her.

"What's wrong, then?"

She released a long breath, pursed her mouth as she looked down at her hands. "My...my dad said some things to me after you left. Things that were - true, I guess. And it just...made me think."

Uh-oh. That didn't sound good. "What things?" he asked, stroking his thumb over the fabric of her jeans and inwardly cursing Jim Beckett. "What did he tell you?"

She shook her head, wouldn't look at him. "It doesn't matter, Rick-"

"Clearly it does," he disagreed, ducking his head to try and capture her gaze. "Kate, please."

She sighed, but he could see her shoulders straighten, her chin lift. "He asked if I was still working on my mom's case."

Castle kept silent, waited for more, but apparently that was all she was going to give him. Huh.

"O-kay," he said slowly, trying to understand what the issue was. "Is that a bad thing? I mean, yeah, you're still working on your mother's case, but you're not drowning in it this time. Right? And I'm here to help you. I can't see how that's-"

"How do you know?" she asked a little sharply, her eyes dark when they found his. "How do you know I'm not gonna drown?"

He opened his mouth but didn't know what to say to that, to the quiet fear that lined her words.

"Because I know you," he murmured finally, curling a hand around hers. "I've been with you for six months, Kate. I've seen how strong, how amazing you are, even if you don't think so. And this time we have good leads, strong leads. I promise - I won't let you fall down that rabbit hole again."

She pressed her lips together, closed her eyes for a moment. "My dad...thinks you might get sucked into it, too. That my obsession might consume us both and then-"

"That's not going to happen," he huffed indignantly, his chest squeezing with her implied meaning. The image of his daughter flashed in his mind, how she still asked him to check for monsters under her bed sometimes, the dimples in her cheeks when she smiled. "Your dad doesn't know us - I'm sure he means well, and he seems like a great guy, but he doesn't _know us, _love_. _You shouldn't let that..._"_

"What if he's right?" Kate rasped. "Are you willing to take that chance? Alexis deserves more-"

"Kate, please. Slow down. What - what chance? What are you talking about?"

"My moving in," she answered as if it was obvious, and suddenly he was breathless, his heart dropping like a stone. No. No. They'd talked about this-

"I just think that my father made a few valid points, Castle," she went on, such disappointment, such mourning in her voice. "And it wouldn't be wise to go ahead and ignore them if I'm not ready..."

"Kate," he pleaded, his fingers lacing with hers.

"No, listen to me," she said, her authority shining through and silencing him. "My dad might not know us, but he was right when he said you and Alexis should come first. I need to sort out my priorities. I can't be living with you if that case is eating me inside-"

"Is it?" he cut her off, switching strategies. "Right now. Would you say the case is eating you alive?"

She gaped at him, hesitated. "N-no," she answered after a moment. "I guess not."

"Do you obsess over it? When we go to bed together, are you thinking of leads and motives and theories that make it all make sense?"

She bit into her lower lip, a slight blush painting her cheeks. "I - no," she let out reluctantly. "Not - no."

"See? You have it under control," he said, softening. "You're doing just fine, Kate, and I'm not sure what you're worried about."

"I always think I have things under control, Castle," she replied with a bitter smile. "Until I realize I don't."

"So what? You think it'd be healthier for me to ask you to drop your mother's case, force you to choose? Admitting you decided to stay - which honestly, I'm not sure I'd bet on - you'd only end up resenting me. And where would that leave us?"

"You and Alexis should come first," she insisted stubbornly, tears glistening in her eyes. "It's the only way to do this, the only way we can be..." her voice stumbled on the word, "a family."

He didn't speak, couldn't; he was blown away by the fire that shone in her eyes, how ready she was to fight for them. How could she not see that?

So he gave in to his instinct, leaned in to kiss her; his hand curled at the back of her neck as he crushed her lips under his. She resisted for a second, fingers pressing into his chest before she melted into him, her body lifting, so close and warm.

He thoroughly devastated her mouth, used the heated press of his tongue and the nip of his teeth to make her moan softly against him; her hips came up when his fingers ventured south, skimming the curve of a breast, and then he let go.

Her eyes opened slowly, wide and dark, her breath coming in sharp pants against his chin.

"We already come first," he whispered fiercely, watching her face. "Every moment you spend with us at the dinner table, every time you help my kid pick her outfit. Every night that you spend in my bed, Kate, you're choosing us over your mother's case. Over and over. And that's why I'm not worried, that's why I think your father's wrong. Because consciously or not, babe, you know what your priorities are."

She licked her lips - so sexy that he just wanted to kiss her again - and pushed her hair back, processing his words.

He said nothing more, just waited her out as his breathing slowed down.

"You're right," she said at last, sounding a little awed and a lot disbelieving.

"That's something I'd like to hear more often," he joked, wriggling his eyebrow, and he loved the unwilling laugh that spilled out of her.

"No reason to_ babe_ me though," she said with a pointed look. He could only smile.

"Duly noted. No babes." She nodded in satisfaction, and then dropped her eyes to her hand, drawing small whirls over his shirt.

"I choose you," she murmured to herself, and he stroked his thumb over her cheekbone, his lips glancing off the corner of her mouth.

"Yeah," he hummed, resting his forehead against hers. "And the day when you don't choose me, Kate? Don't worry, I'll be there to make you change your mind."

She made an amused sound at the back of her throat, her fingers curling dangerously close to his ear. "Always so cocky," she said, but her nose was nudging his, her breath warm on his lips.

"Don't you love that about me?" he grinned back - until she was wiping it off his face, her kiss so lazy and clever that he was a complete wreck by the time her mouth gently trailed off.

"So you're moving in?" he found himself asking stupidly, the need much too raw in his voice.

She smirked, and he realized that at some point she'd migrated into his armchair, was now sitting in his lap and dominating him. He had no objections to that. None.

"You're still coming into work with me on Monday?" she countered, that lovely husky tone to her words. Jeez, she was going to kill him.

"Yeah," he answered immediately, didn't care if his eagerness showed. "Yes, yes, yes."

She laughed again, more of a giggle this time, and she tilted her head at him. "Don't you think you're gonna get tired of me, Castle? Spending our days and nights together?"

He wasn't sure if she was teasing, or honestly concerned, but he slid his hands up her thighs and drew her closer, loving the hot brackets of her legs around him. He skimmed his lips down her neck, drinking in her rippling shiver, and he smiled.

"No," he murmured. "Not gonna get tired of you, Kate."

She gasped and he could feel the beautiful give of her body, the way she surrendered to him. "No?" she repeated, her voice a thin thread.

"Never," he promised in a growl, baring his teeth at her collarbone. He grazed her skin and then laved the sensitive spot with his tongue, the undulation of her hips making his heart clench like it always did. "I'll never get tired of you."


End file.
